


Twenty-Twenty

by scheherazade



Series: Past and Future [1]
Category: Tenimyu RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 107,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: Five years later, Hirose Daisuke returns to Tokyo.Unfinished business, second chances, and all the ways in which the past is never quite through with us.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Written by [scheherazade](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade)  
> Directed by [scheherazade](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade) & [acchikocchi](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi)  
> Produced by [acchikocchi](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi)
> 
> Back in fall of 2015, I planned this fic as a one-shot. Nearly two years later, this 100k+ monstrosity is complete. This story owes its existence to Mer, who dragged me into Tenimyu 2nd and, subsequently, the Titanic of a ship that is Jinnai Sho/Hirose Daisuke. This story owes its existence to years of chatfic and jokes, off-the-cuff theory and in-depth research, endless cheerleading and feedback and the best reader anyone could ask for. Most of all, this story owes everything to the author finally getting what having a real friend is all about. I literally couldn't have done this without you.
> 
> Shout-out to Samy, for taking this fic on a road test by reading the first full draft. To Yrin, for nudging me to do Camp Nano and finally finish up the last three chapters. And to you, Tenimyu friends; you guys make this tiny fandom a place of the vastest happiness.  
>   

The PA looks at his clipboard, looks up, and looks down again. He can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, all gangly limbs and awkward hair falling forward into thick-rimmed specs. He fiddles with the staff credential hanging around his neck; the laminated piece of paper is emblazoned with a gaudy _[NICO NICO] RECIPES OF LOVE_.

"Well," says the infant PA, finally. "I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem, but um. Let me double-check with the supervisor? If you could just give me a second, er...?"

"Hirose."

"Hirose-san. Right." The kid scribbles his name in hiragana. "Please wait right here, Hirose-san. Uh, I think there’s a chair somewhere if you—"

"Daisuke? Oh my god, Daisuke!"

And just like that, he finds himself being suddenly and very thoroughly hugged by a human whirlwind dressed in a flower-print shirt. The PA takes a step back.

"You’re here! You actually came! Wait, wait, let me get a good look at you." Yutaka releases him as suddenly as he appeared, giving Daisuke a small push. "Oh my god. How long has it _been_?"

Daisuke finds himself laughing — because what other reaction is there, really, to the fact of Kobayashi Yutaka? "Good to see you, too," he replies. "It’s been way too long."

"Seriously! And — ah! Your hair!"

"Huh? Oh." Daisuke self-consciously tucks a wisp of hair behind his ear. He’d pulled it back into a ponytail earlier, but the shorter strands keep escaping. He probably should have worn a hat. "Yeah, just thought I’d try it out. I don’t know."

Yutaka grins. "I love it. It totally suits you." 

"High praise, coming from the trendsetter himself. You know my mom bought your latest magazine cover?" 

"Oh, stop it. There’s no point in flattering an old friend." Yutaka slings an arm around Daisuke’s shoulders and steers him through the backstage door. "But tell your mother thanks for me. How is she, anyway?"

"Same as always." Daisuke remembers something. "Wait, the PA was saying that—" 

"Ryou-kun?"

Daisuke looks around, but the bespectacled child is nowhere in sight. "He said my name’s not on the list." 

"Oh, don’t worry about that." Yutaka escorts him down the corridor to a dressing room. "Ryou-kun’s got the official personnel list. You’re _my_ guest. It’s all very don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t give the gossip sites anything to talk about."

"Nice." Daisuke helps himself to the spinning chair in front of the dressing table. "Even if that makes me sound like your dirty little secret."

"Well, you wouldn’t be the first."

Daisuke nearly falls off the chair, mid-spin.

Yutaka drapes himself over the small sofa, raises an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Nothing." Daisuke turns to the mirror instead, pulling apart his ponytail to redo the whole thing. "This is how those rumors started, huh?"

"There’s always rumors. But after the third or fourth time some fan tried to steal the personnel list, the producers finally got their heads out of their asses and let me manage my own private business." In the mirror, Yutaka’s grin is crooked.

Daisuke twists the hair tie one last time and drops his hands. "So you’re — seeing someone, right now?"

"Why? You asking me out?" Yutaka laughs at the look on his face. "Hey, there’s no reason to look _that_ scared!"

"Easy for you to say," Daisuke mutters. "You’ll never have to date you."

"More’s the pity." 

"Egotist."

"Tease."

"I’m sorry you can’t control yourself around me." 

"I'm sorry you can’t control your _face_."

Daisuke sticks out his tongue, and Yutaka dissolves into giggles. 

"God," Yutaka says — hiccups, nearly — once he’s finally got himself under control again. "I've really missed you."

"I know." Daisuke can’t seem to stop smiling. "Me, too."

"What have you been up to, anyway? Last we heard, people said you were teaching at an elementary school?"

"No, I mean." It’s hard to think about the past few years, even now. "I did that for a bit, as a favor to my mother. Her best friend was on maternity leave. But after that." He shrugs. "I went to see my cousin — Yui, the one who lives in Miyagi? You met her once, I think."

"The one who runs a pottery shop?"

"Yeah. She's doing pretty well, plenty of business and all that." Daisuke tries to smile. "I ended up staying and helping her out."

"In Miyagi?"

"Yup, so. That was that." He shrugs again, because he doesn't know what else to say. Because what else _is_ there to say?

There's more to it than that, of course. There was the long, cold winter in his parents' house, punctuated by weekly shouting matches about what he was doing with his life. There was the substitute teaching, and the flu he caught from the snot-nosed brats in his class. There were nights he couldn't sleep for how hard he was crying, and there were nights he was too tired to even cry. There was the morning he threw some clothes into a duffel bag and bought a train ticket to Sendai. Yui met him at the station, tsk'd at how skinny he'd gotten, and didn't even blink when he turned off his phone without answering any of the twenty missed calls.

So there was all that. And there's also the fact that he never texted or emailed or told any of his friends where he was going. In the end, he didn't even tell his agency; they didn't ask. Just accepted that he was going on an extended leave of absence "for personal reasons", no further details necessary.

Maybe they were glad to be rid of him. Everyone seemed to be, back then.

He catches himself twisting a lock of hair round and round his finger. Half the ponytail has come loose again, thanks to his fidgeting. Daisuke drops his hand.

"So," Yutaka asks, "how long are you in Tokyo for?"

"A while. Maybe. Depends."

"On what?"

"I don't know. It's kind of weird, coming back here. You know?"

Yutaka sits forward, elbows on his knees. "Dai-chan, I mean it. No one will find out you were here, not if you don’t want them to." 

There's something in the way he says it that keeps Daisuke from retorting, _You make it sound like I have something to hide._ Or someone from whom to hide. Then again, Yutaka has never operated on any level except his own. Whether it's a friend he just met or an old friend from half a decade ago — when Kobayashi Yutaka is worried about you, no amount of casual dismissal will make him change his mind. 

Daisuke cracks a smile. It feels almost genuine. "Thanks. It's no big deal, really. But I appreciate it."

"Well, good. As long as we're clear on that." Yutaka stands up. "I'm due on set pretty soon. You want to get dinner after? We usually wrap around 7:30."

Daisuke looks at the clock. He wants to say yes; there's a reason he called Yutaka first, the minute he got off the train. But that's just one reason. He shakes his head.

"Maybe later this week. I — have some stuff to take care of, first."

"All right," Yutaka says easily. He straightens his cuffs, peering into the mirror. "Well, stay for the opening segment at least." He flashes a grin. "I put on a pretty good show, or so I've been told."

Daisuke snorts. "I never said my mother has good taste, you know."

"Clearly, seeing as she had you." Yutaka laughs at his own joke. Daisuke snaps a hair tie in his general direction. It misses by about two meters and bounces off the ceiling instead.

There comes a loud knock at the door. "Kobayashi-san, we're ready for you on set!"

"I'll be right there, Miki-chan!" Yutaka produces a remote from a dresser drawer, clicks on the TV in the corner. It shows a live feed of the stage. "You can watch from here, if you want."

"Oh." Daisuke catches the remote when Yutaka tosses it at him. "Thanks."

Yutaka crosses the room in two strides, places both hands on Daisuke's shoulders and — before Daisuke can react one way or another — kisses him firmly on the cheek.

Yutaka's face is oddly serious when he steps back. "Don't disappear on me again, okay?"

"I won't." The lump in his throat makes it difficult to speak. Daisuke blinks hard, looking down at the remote he's now clutching to his chest. "I'm sorry. About before."

It shouldn't hurt this much, he thinks, to say just one word. Not after all this time, after everything, after he's decided he needs to do this. Maybe five years wasn't long enough.

But when he looks back up, Yutaka is smiling. 

"I know." He squeezes Daisuke's shoulder, a gentle pressure that's more like relief. "I forgive you."

 

* * *

 

Tokyo feels different, less familiar, but the crush of people is still the same. Daisuke tries to take up as little space as possible — on the train, on the pavement, scurrying away from the woman who'd been waiting impatiently behind him while he tried to get a vending machine to return his change. He ends up leaving the ¥50.

Tomoru had offered to buy him dinner anyway. Or, more likely, make Jun pay for it.

Junjun is a big deal these days. Junjun is much in demand. Junjun is also starved for good influences in his life, so he can suck it, take two hours out of his busy schedule and come say hi to an old friend, according to Tomoru.

Daisuke isn't sure he'd consider himself a good influence.

On second thought, that's probably not what Tomoru meant.

Tomoru looks more relaxed than he remembers, sitting in the middle of a wraparound booth at the back of the restaurant that Jun picked out. The name of the place is something European-sounding which Daisuke can't quite pronounce. 

Jun looks closer to Daisuke's level of discomfort. He practically springs to his feet when he sees Daisuke. 

"Holy crap," Jun blurts out. "It really _is_ you."

"Offended that you think I'd lie to you," Tomoru notes casually; Jun narrows his eyes at that, and Tomoru finishes with, "—about something like this, anyway." He gives Daisuke a genuine smile. "Hey, stranger."

"Hi." Daisuke sits where Tomoru gestures for him to sit. He feels shy, suddenly, as Jun returns to his own seat and resumes staring at him. "How've you been? The both of you?"

"We should be asking you that." Jun leans an elbow on the table. "Where have you _been_ all this time?"

Daisuke steels himself to evade the question for the second time today — he'd expected this, hadn't he? He'd known he would have to answer questions when he came back to Tokyo — but Tomoru beats him to it:

"People do have their own lives to live, you know. And hard as it may be to believe, life sometimes doesn't involve you. In fact, life often happens in spite of your input. Or lack thereof."

Daisuke takes the opportunity to drink his water, and watch as Jun glares at Tomoru for the second time in as many minutes. 

"Oh, of course." Jun's voice carries a nasty edge that surprises Daisuke. "And you know how some of us _don't_ spend every waking moment sticking our noses in places they don't belong?"

"Please," Tomoru replies breezily. "Unlike you, I always know exactly where to stick it."

Daisuke chokes on his water. Jun turns an improbable shade of red, and Tomoru beams at the waitress who appears just then to ask if they've decided. 

They order — or rather, Tomoru chats with the waitress, and Jun pronounces the menu items with an inflection that's closer to the original language than anything katakana could ever capture. Daisuke finds himself studying Jun; they were friends, sure, but they'd never been that close to begin with, except through Tomoru, and the intervening years have sharpened all the edges that Daisuke might have once guessed at but never quite knew.

Tomoru catches his eye as the waitress walks away; he offers Daisuke a meaningful look. Except Daisuke has no idea what it means. One of the many problems with trying to pick up where you left off, he thinks with a pang. It's not just learning what you've missed; it's also relearning all the cues that you once knew by heart.

"Did I mention that Jun's been learning Spanish?" Tomoru says, which earns him an eyeroll. "He's designated translator for future Europe trips."

"You're assuming I'd take you with me," Jun retorts, but Daisuke thinks he's secretly pleased by the compliment.

He lets Tomoru steer the conversation, baiting Jun from one topic to the next. Maybe he should be insulted, that Jun is so easily distracted by the details of his own life — the guitar lessons, his upcoming projects, intra-agency drama and gossip to which Tomoru readily contributes in off-hand remarks — but mostly, Daisuke is relieved.

Tomoru used to look out for him in this way, too, back then. Little things: a kind word, a conspiratorial smile in a dressing room full of strangers. A birthday gift, when no one else had remembered. An invitation to coffee, when Daisuke would otherwise have spent a weekend alone. A knowing look, and a reprieve from questions that Daisuke would rather not answer right now. 

He's had five years and enough lonely weekends to learn to appreciate this for what it is. Daisuke wonders, idly, if one day Jun will feel the same.

Then again, Jun's always lived a more charmed kind of life. 

Daisuke wrenches himself out of that train of thought just in time to hear Tomoru say, "You can't chicken out now. Besides, you don't have a schedule conflict, and everyone knows you're going."

"What are you, my manager?"

"If only." Tomoru turns to Daisuke. "Do you have plans for tomorrow night? We have an extra ticket, and I'm sure Jun could scrounge up another if you want to bring anyone."

Daisuke replays the last few minutes in his head to catch up. Some low-budget musical featuring familiar names, and to which Jun had magnanimously agreed to grace with his superstar presence. According to Tomoru, anyway.

"I don't need you to babysit me," Jun complains. "I said I'll go."

Tomoru is still looking at Daisuke. "Consider it moral support. Because we're friends."

" _Fine_ ," Jun all but snaps. Daisuke tries to replay more of the conversation, sifting for anything that might have warranted this reaction; gossip is no good when most of the names and references go right over his head. Jun continues, "But I'm not begging Shoutarou for another ticket. He owes me exactly one favor, and I'm not wasting it on this — no offense, Daisuke."

"None taken," Daisuke finally manages. He carefully avoids Tomoru's gaze. "Anyway, yeah. That sounds good. Tomorrow night, you said?"

"Where are you staying?" Tomoru asks next. "I can pick you up on my way from work, if you want."

Daisuke shakes his head, smiling, even as Jun snorts something about people who missed their true calling as hipster au pairs. "I'll probably be out. I can just meet you guys there."

"All right." Tomoru sets his napkin aside, and signals the waitress for the bill. "Don't be late. I might need help keeping Junjun from getting cold feet. By physical force, if necessary."

"For the _last time_ —"

"He's kept up with his judo, did you know?" Tomoru continues, talking over Jun's protests. "Funny, because even with that he hasn't been able to pin anyone down for longer than a one-night stand."

Jun splutters, right as the waitress arrives with a smile and with the bill. Tomoru takes the opportunity to filch Jun's wallet from his bag. 

"Anyway, here." Tomoru slides something across the table, after the waitress has left with Jun's credit card. Daisuke looks down at a pamphlet. "Time, place, actor bios, the works."

Jun finally recovers enough to snatch his bag back. "There's a special place in hell for you, Akazawa Tomoru."

"Yes," Tomoru agrees serenely. "I believe it's called the throne."

Daisuke laughs at that, though the joke had been old even before he'd left Tokyo. It's just nice, he explains at Jun's inquisitive look, how some things really do withstand the test of time.

"You sound like Tomoru," Jun sighs as he signs the bill. "All this crap about unfinished business and living in the past."

"Think of it as living in spite of the past," Daisuke says, surprising even himself. But it's true, he realizes, after a moment of examining his own words. It doesn't just sound nice; it feels right.

"Good," says Tomoru. His eyes are glittering, not with mischief or menace — but a fierce kind of hope, Daisuke realizes after a startled moment. "I'm glad you're back, Daisuke."

It's the shock of the realization, probably, that keeps him from disputing Tomoru's phrasing — _coming back_ and _being back_ are two very different things, after all.

Except it doesn't seem so important, just then, with Tomoru smiling at him and Jun not even paying any attention, as if this were normal, just another day and Daisuke just another person to get dinner with.

"Thanks," Daisuke says, and finds that he's smiling. "So am I."

 

* * *

 

The place he's staying at is nothing special. But he doesn't need much more than this. A bed, a lamp, shared bathroom down the hall. The wifi is helplessly eccentric. If he stretches, he can touch the opposite walls of his room with his feet on one end and his head on the other.

He didn't come to Tokyo for luxury, unless you can count peace as such.

He turns on his laptop and waits for the wifi to ponder its way to life. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he unfolds the pamphlet to the actor bios.

The name catches his eye almost immediately. Daisuke blinks at the accompanying photograph showing a clear-eyed man with artfully tousled hair, whom the blurb proclaims to be _Kikuchi Takuya (ROU): An independent musician, Kikuchi-san divides his time between touring, recording, and musical theater. Well-received both in Japan and abroad, his 2019 single "Takaramono" entered the Top 100 of the iTunes Indie World Music Chart._

Daisuke reaches for his laptop before he can help himself. He remembers Kikuchi, but the Kikuchi he remembers is the one with an awkward face and a notebook full of song lyrics. Not this.

The wifi bar blinks when he tries to google "kikuchi takuya rou takaramono". An error page appears. 

He briefly considers texting Tomoru, or maybe Jun. But given his earlier reaction, Jun might actually disinvite him to the performance. And Tomoru — probably doesn't want to talk to him just about Kikuchi. Or not just in the context of Jun. With Tomoru, sometimes even the subtext has subtext.

Daisuke can't think about it right now. He restarts his laptop before picking up the pamphlet again.

The name he's looking for is hard to miss.

 _Ohkubo Shoutarou_ , reads the third entry from the top. _A lifelong actor, Ohkubo-san made his stage debut at age seven and has since starred in many well-received productions including Altar Boyz (2014), Sanbiki no Ossan (2015), and Othello (2018)._

The accompanying photograph bears little resemblance to the babyfaced teenager Daisuke remembers. If the years have sharpened Jun, they've hardened Shoutarou. Daisuke thinks about the kid he used to drag into selfies, all dimpled smiles and mischievous eyes, always too smart for his own good; Daisuke thinks, if he tried something like that now, he'd most likely get punched in the face.

It's an uncharitable thought. The Shoutarou he remembers isn't a charitable person. The Shoutarou he remembers is sharp-tongued, tenacious, arrogant but with good reason — and above all else, ruthlessly loyal to the people he considers his friends.

Daisuke wonders if five years have changed any of that.

His head bumps against the wall when he lets himself fall back on the bed. The lamp casts the ceiling into uniform yellow. It's tempting to curl up like this, still in his street clothes, the pamphlet crinkling against his chest and his laptop whirring quietly in the background. 

He wonders if Yutaka is free tomorrow night. He wonders why Yutaka hadn't offered any information on what everyone's doing. Shoutarou, Seiya, Kenta. Sho. He wonders if he's that obvious.

_No one will find out you were here, if you don’t want them to._

Daisuke closes his eyes. He wants this. Of course he wants this. He's here, isn't he? He came back to Tokyo on his own, because he decided to do this for himself.

It shouldn't matter what other people think.

 

* * *

 

 _I'd love to but I have a date,_ reads the text from Yutaka. _Have fun though!! Shoutarou's popular enough you'll probably run into lots of people._

Daisuke considers responding to the first statement. He knows it's avoidance. A bit like the way he's currently standing at a bus stop, in Shibuya, where he'd arrived thirty minutes ago. It's too early to head to the theater. He should find a cafe or something — find something to do for the next two hours — but he feels paralyzed.

He thought he'd gotten over this.

Tomoru hasn't said much to him today, apart from a quick _see you tonight_ , and Daisuke realized very belatedly that he doesn't actually have Jun's new number. The pamphlet is in his bag. His fingers curl around his phone.

He writes back, _Do you know who's gonna be there?_

 _No,_ comes the immediate response. Followed by, _I can try to find out if you want._

Daisuke chews on his lip. 

He starts to type, _I haven't really told anyone I'm back_ , then quickly deletes it. That's not the point. But neither is, _Maybe I shouldn't be here_.

He's so busy trying to translate this nebulous unease into a text-length message that he doesn't notice the bus pull up until one of the disembarking passengers nearly runs him over. Daisuke barely saves his phone from smashing on the pavement. 

"I'm so sorry!" he stammers (though technically, a small part of his mind insists, it's the other guy's fault for not watching where he's going). His hair flies into his face when he ducks his head. "Sorry. Are you all right?"

"It's fine. Uh, my bad. I didn't—"

Which is when Daisuke finally looks up, and the déjà vu is strong enough to make his head spin. _He's gone and dyed his hair again_ , Daisuke notes absently. But even without the blinding highlights, he would have recognized this face.

"Utsumi-kun?"

Utsumi blinks at him. 

Daisuke offers a faint smile, and hopes it comes across as friendly. 

He watches as Utsumi's confusion melts into surprise into wariness before finally settling on full-blown bafflement. 

" _Hirose?_ "

A couple people turn their heads at the outburst. Daisuke tenses, before remembering that no one's likely to recognize him, given how long it's been. Besides — he doesn't look much like himself, from back then, if Utsumi's reaction is anything to go by. 

"I didn't think I would run into you." Daisuke offers a less frantic bow this time; it's worth it, to see the way Utsumi has to visibly force himself into reciprocating. Etiquette is apparently still a foreign language to him. "It's been such a long time. How have you been?"

"I've, uh." Utsumi clears his throat. He straightens, then slouches into what Daisuke assumes is street etiquette. "It's been cool. You know. I landed a couple gigs with this dance studio nearby." Utsumi jerks his head in a direction that doesn't correspond to any coordinate known to man. "Actually, I was just on my way over now."

And Daisuke can't help it, really. "I'm going that way as well. Do you mind if I walk with you?"

"Uh." Utsumi's face twists through a series of emotions, too quick for Daisuke to read this time. "Yeah, sure. I mean, no — that sounds good. Where are you headed?"

Daisuke falls into step beside him. "Tokyu Theatre Orb. Some friends of friends are doing a musical and—"

"Oh, that thing Kikuchi's in?"

"Yes." Daisuke pauses. "I didn't realize you two were close."

"Oh god, no. He's a total sap." Utsumi seems to catch himself. "But I admire his dedication. And his last album wasn't too shabby. If you're into that kind of thing."

"I haven't heard it," Daisuke admits.

Utsumi snorts. "Shocker."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I never took you for the sentimental type." Utsumi glances at him, and Daisuke isn't sure what his face is showing just then; whatever it is, it gives Utsumi pause. "Though, well, it has been a long time... What've you been up to, anyway? It's been, what, three years since I saw you?"

"Five," Daisuke says quietly, and Utsumi blinks. At least he has the decency to look guilty for that; it doesn't make Daisuke feel any better. He tries to laugh it off. "The years all start to blur together after a while."

"Yeah, they really do." Utsumi digs his hands even deeper into his jacket pockets. Daisuke wants to tell him to stop slouching, that it's bad for his posture, as a dancer. But it's not his place anymore — if, really, it ever was.

"Listen," Utsumi says next. "I was gonna get a quick bite before heading to the studio. So..."

Daisuke smiles politely. "Of course. Well, it was good running into—"

"I meant," Utsumi interrupts him, "do you have a preference? Allergies? Dietary restrictions?"

It's Daisuke turn to blink at him.

Utsumi squirms, then tries to turn the squirm into a shrug. "Your show doesn't start 'til seven, right?"

Daisuke nods slowly, and Utsumi nods with conviction. 

"Right," says Utsumi. "Okay. How do you feel about smoothies?"

Daisuke has no particular feelings on pureed fruit and vegetables. Utsumi seems to have some strong opinions, however, which is how Daisuke ends up following him past several places selling the stuff before they finally arrive at the only smoothie bar that Utsumi deems acceptable, in terms of both nutrition and aesthetics.

It feels a bit surreal, waiting in line with Utsumi, of all people, for a raspberry mango something something that doesn't taste much different from the bottled stuff he gets at convenience stores. It's good, Daisuke tells Utsumi when he asks. He lets Utsumi park them at a window seat and lecture him on the various reasons why liquid foods are better for your health. Daisuke tries not to point out that the smoothie Utsumi has gotten — caramel almond milk — sounds like it has all the nutritional value of candy.

Utsumi never responded well to criticism, however gentle. At least, not from Daisuke. Not back then. 

He still remembers that two-hour long phone call, when Utsumi had been in the Higa musical, the ringing silence from the other end of the line while Daisuke rattled off the giddy observations he'd made after going to see the show.

Utsumi was _good_ , is the thing; he'd always been good, even if he was a brat. Though Daisuke might have forgotten to lead with the former, when he'd called. He just remembers his brain buzzing with a thousand interpretations, character motivations and the raw passion of performance — and he wanted, _needed_ to tell someone and Utsumi had picked up the phone and back then, that much was enough.

In retrospect, he probably should have realized sooner that the problem wasn't just wanting to talk to someone. 

It was who he wanted to talk to.

"—at least, if you believe Taito," Utsumi is saying. He pauses for breath, then narrows his eyes slightly. "Are you gonna finish that?"

"Huh?" Daisuke blinks. Utsumi is already done with his smoothie; Daisuke's own cup is still more than half full. "Oh, um. No. I'll take it with me."

"You don't like it, do you?"

"What? No, it's—"

"You could've just said so, you know." Utsumi doesn't sound offended, Daisuke realizes belatedly. If anything, he sounds amused. "There's a food cart right around the corner."

Daisuke ducks his head. "It's fine. I — it's just not what I'm used to, is all. I didn't even know there was a smoothie bar here."

"You've been gone a long time." When he looks up, Utsumi is studying him with an expression Daisuke doesn't remember seeing before. At least not outside the context of dance practice, gaze trained on his own reflection in the mirror. "So what's going on with you these days? You didn't just come back to Tokyo for Kikuchi's musical, did you?"

Daisuke fiddles with his straw. "You're not going to ask why I left in the first place?"

"Do you want me to?"

He looks up sharply; Utsumi is wearing a faint smile. 

"That's a new one," Daisuke admits.

Utsumi shrugs. "When you dropped off the face of the earth, I just kind of assumed you'd gotten yourself into trouble. Like, knocked up some chick or whatever. I wouldn't even have been surprised." Utsumi grins at the look on Daisuke's face. "I was a real dick back then, huh?"

 _Yes,_ Daisuke almost blurts out. He takes a sip of his smoothie instead.

"Anyway," Utsumi continues, "I guess what I'm saying is, I know I don't have a right to pry or anything. But, like — you look good, you know? I'm glad. I'm glad I ran into you. Literally."

The joke is lame enough to make Daisuke snort, which makes Utsumi laugh. And that's also new; Daisuke doesn't remember being able to make Utsumi laugh before, except unconsciously, and probably at his own expense. This one — seems different. 

Utsumi, he realizes with something like wonder, has grown up.

"Me, too," he says finally. He offers a wry smile. "Honestly, I wasn't expecting to run into you. Wasn't planning to, if I could help it. I know you never liked me much." 

"Yeah, well." The grin Utsumi returns him is just as crooked. "You had other friends." Daisuke tenses, but Utsumi doesn't seem to notice. "Hey, isn't one of them — Ohkubo? Isn't he in the musical with Kikuchi?"

"Yeah. Shoutarou."

"That's right. I remember Taito mentioning that." Utsumi actually snaps his fingers at the next thought that occurs to him. "And your friend — what's his name? Jinnai Sho? Damn, I haven't thought about these people in _years_. How's he doing these days? Last I heard, he had like a mid-life crisis and retired or something."

Daisuke somehow manages to nod along. "Yeah. I mean, as far as I know he's still with Watanabe, but working in management. Or production. Something along those lines."

He thinks he delivered that pretty well. He thinks it for all of two seconds, before Utsumi's expression softens suddenly into something a little too much like sympathy.

"Right," Utsumi says, and then, "Well, maybe you'll see him more now that you're both retired, huh?"

Daisuke shrugs. Smiles. Looks down at the half-finished smoothie in his hands. "I only got in yesterday, so."

"How long are you—" Utsumi starts to ask, when his phone rings. He nearly jumps out of his seat. One glance at his phone, and he swears. "Shit! Sorry. Shit, goddammit, I completely lost track of time."

"Ah." Daisuke stands as well. "I didn't meant to keep you this long. Is it far to your dance studio?"

"What? Oh, no. Um." Utsumi looks up from his phone. His face is sheepish. "I was supposed to call my girlfriend. And I forgot."

Daisuke blinks. Then blinks again. 

"Congratulations," he says for lack of a better line. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, well," Utsumi says distractedly, head down and texting as they walk out of the smoothie bar. Daisuke holds the door so he doesn't run into it. "It's all pretty low-key. I mean, I'm serious about her, but gotta keep up appearances, you know?"

Daisuke doesn't know, either about girlfriends or what appearances Utsumi means, but it doesn't seem to matter. The smile on Utsumi's face is explanation enough.

"It really was good to see you," Daisuke says when they reach the end of the block. He should turn here for the theater. Utsumi is heading straight, judging by the way he'd nearly walked into traffic, still texting, before Daisuke tugged on his arm to stop him. 

"Huh? Oh." Utsumi pockets his phone. "Yeah, you too. You're all set with directions to the theater?"

"I haven't been gone _that_ long," Daisuke retorts, and Utsumi grins.

The light starts to turn from red to green.

Utsumi says, "You know what—" He searches through his pockets, produces a handful of coins, some receipts, and the stub of an eyeliner pencil. As Daisuke watches, he scribbles something on the back of a receipt. "Here's my number. Just in case."

"In case of what?" Daisuke asks before he can stop himself. 

"I don't know. In case you want to come see one of _my_ shows. I'll bet you we're better than Kikuchi." The laughter in Utsumi's eyes belies the disdain in his tone. "Tickets are ¥2,000 at the door."

Daisuke snorts, but he knows he's smiling as he takes the receipt. The writing is already a bit smudged; he folds it carefully. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that." Utsumi pockets his change, flashing Daisuke a grin before darting into the street as the cross signal blinks red. He calls over his shoulder, "I'll see you around, Hirose!"

Daisuke waves in spite of the people giving one or both of them disapproving glances as Utsumi narrowly dodges around a car preparing to turn with the light. Tokyo will be Tokyo. But people can change, even if the city remains the same.

"See you around," he says quietly to himself. 

He likes the way it sounds.

 

* * *

 

"I said I'd come see the goddamn show. I didn't say anything about going backstage!"

"I know," Tomoru says placidly. "Which is why I also know you didn't say no."

Daisuke follows the two of them down a series of corridors and stairs. Tomoru seems to know where he's going and — despite the stream of protests about how this was never part of any sort of plan — Jun is apparently familiar with the theater as well.

He's still holding the playbill. It's easier to think about the performance than about what's coming next. Shoutarou had more or less stolen the show, to Daisuke's total lack of surprise, but it's Kikuchi's character that he finds himself thinking about as he tunes out Jun and Tomoru's bickering.

Kikuchi's character is nothing special, all told. Then again, neither are the rest: he can name plenty of people who'd be into a musical based off an American film about indie musicians and artistic integrity, but he wouldn't count himself among them.

It's right in Kikuchi's wheelhouse, though. Maybe that's why. The raw note in his voice as his solo ended, and the breathless hush that followed. Daisuke almost wished that no one had clapped, afterwards — not because Kikuchi wasn't good, but because the moment had been so unbearably intimate. The applause felt like an intrusion. 

It sounds stupid now, but for a second there, he'd almost forgotten that the character on stage wasn't actually Kikuchi Takuya.

It's the same old itch as always, to obsess over every remembered detail and talk through these observations with the nearest person. Who, in this case, happens to be Jun. And Daisuke has enough of a self-preservation instinct to render that a no-go. Tomoru is too busy blithely ignoring Jun's peevishness to notice the way Daisuke's still clutching his playbill. 

He considers asking Kikuchi to coffee later. 

Probably not a good idea, he thinks, watching Tomoru practically drag Jun around the last corner to where the dressing rooms are located. 

"Cut it out already," Jun growls. "I'll do it, okay? I'm here and I'm going with you to say hi — to _Shoutarou_ , because he's my _friend_ , and someone I've actually talked to in the last three years."

"Um, you and Shoutarou hate each other," Tomoru points out.

"That is such a lie. We happen to have a very healthy rivalry."

Tomoru actually snorts at that. "You're on completely separate career tracks."

"Still the same industry."

"In that case, you both lose to me." Tomoru cranes his neck as they emerge in a corridor full of production staff rushing about. Tomoru flashes one of them a smile, getting a surprised nod of recognition in response, but otherwise no one pays them any mind. Jun gets a couple double-takes, which he ignores with ease. Daisuke wishes he'd worn a hat or sunglasses or something. 

Tomoru waves. "Takkun!" 

Daisuke follows his line of sight and sees a certain tall dark-haired someone turn his head. He's still in costume. It looks pretty good on him, Daisuke thinks; stage makeup and all. 

Kikuchi smiles at Tomoru. Then his eyes widen when he sees who's standing with Tomoru.

To his credit, Kikuchi only freezes for a split second before making his way over. "Tomorun. Hi." His gaze passes right over Daisuke to Jun. "Hey. Um. Thanks for coming to the performance."

"Don't mention it," Tomoru says cheerfully. "What are friends for, huh?"

Kikuchi manages a laugh. "Can't take these things for granted."

The way he says it is almost like a question. Daisuke catches Tomoru also turning to look at Jun.

"Good show, Kikuchi," Jun says, voice cool enough to make Daisuke cringe. "I enjoyed it."

Kikuchi looks down at his feet, and Daisuke finds himself cringing again even though this is much closer to the Kikuchi he actually remembers. He half expects Kikuchi to scuff his shoe on the floor and make some inane excuse about needing time alone for his creative process, which would inevitably result in him turning up half an hour later in some empty stretch of corridor, notebook propped on his knees, scribbling lyrics in chicken scrawl that nobody would have been able to read even if he'd allowed them a peek at those closely-guarded pages.

But it's years later, and now Kikuchi looks back up at Jun. "Thank you," he says. "I appreciate it."

Daisuke blinks. So does Jun. Tomoru turns his head to hide a grin.

"Seriously, thanks for coming. All of you." Kikuchi looks away from Jun finally. And does a double-take at the third person in the party. "Wait. Whoa. I didn't even — Daisuke?"

Daisuke nods. "Long time no see." He offers a hesitant smile to Kikuchi's perplexed expression. "Congrats on a great show, by the way. You're even better than I remember."

"Yeah..." Kikuchi catches himself. "I mean, thanks. Wow. It's been literally years, huh?" 

"We should all get dinner sometime," Tomoru suggests. "You free anytime next week?"

"Uh, well, there's performances most nights—"

"How about Tuesday?"

"I'm sure he's busy, Tomoru," Jun points out, and the scowl is apparent in his voice. 

Kikuchi says, "Actually, we only have one show on Tuesday." Jun's scowl deepens, and he falters. "I mean. If that works for everyone else."

"It's a date," Tomoru says before Jun can get another word in edgewise. He darts forward and loops his arm around Kikuchi's elbow. "Now, introduce me to your adorable co-star. Asuka-san, right? Is this really her first musical? She's fantastic."

Kikuchi says something that's lost to Daisuke as a staff member bumps into him in passing, the rushed apology drowning out Kikuchi and Tomoru's conversation. Daisuke loses sight of them for a moment, and when he looks up again, they've disappeared — including Jun. 

Dressing room, probably. He searches for any labels on the doors that might tell him which one is Kikuchi's. 

From around the corner, a familiar voice rings out:

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show his face!"

Daisuke tenses all over, instinctively plastering himself against the wall. Then he realizes that the words aren't actually directed at him. 

The voice that answers the first is just as familiar, but softer, and Daisuke has to strain his ears to hear. But he can practically see the smile that goes with it, a memory from ten years ago when they all first met.

"Go easy on him, Shoutarou. With all the overtime he's pulled lately — you know what he's like. Honestly, if I didn't make him, he'd probably forget to eat and sleep."

"I'm sure you've got better things to do than sleep anyway— Ow, hey! Not the hair! You know how long it takes me to get into costume?"

"Your show's over, brat," says a third voice, and Daisuke is suddenly glad of the wall's support. 

He should go find Tomoru, he thinks. He should. He will. He needs to.

Around the corner, Shoutarou is saying, "Great show, wasn't it?"

"Congratulating yourself really isn't a good look."

"Well, I don't see _you_ bringing me any flowers. Gotta get some where I can."

"Not all self-love is good love, you know that, right?"

"Nobody would believe you two actually like each other, to hear you," says the smiling voice, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You were great, Shoutarou. Not that you need either of us to tell you. Sho's been talking my ear off about how great you were ever since curtains."

"Oy, I told you that in confidence. I've got a reputation to maintain here."

"Your reputation can take it," comes the immediate response, with a near simultaneous agreement of, "Your reputation's been through so much worse than praising my incredible stage presence."

"Yeah, yeah. Congrats on a great show. I do mean it."

"Thank you. I do appreciate it, even if you didn't bring me flowers."

"We're buying you dinner, what more do you want? Anyway, how soon will you be ready to go? We can wait for you out back."

"Nah, just give me like ten minutes to get out of costume and wipe my face. The rest can wait. Honestly, I think there's something wrong with the pipes in this building. Last time I did my whole cleansing routine here, during dress rehearsals, I broke out worse than Akunyan when he was eighteen, and you remember what that was like—"

Belatedly, Daisuke realizes that the voices are getting louder, and not just because the hallway has cleared of people. 

He takes a step away from the wall, hesitates a split second as to where to go — if he heads to the dressing room now, Shoutarou will find him in no time — and that split second proves all it takes.

Shoutarou appears from around the corner, laughing — and stops dead. 

Behind him, Kenta starts to ask, "What's wrong", then pauses when he sees Daisuke. 

And Sho — Sho stands frozen with them. His arm looped around Kenta's waist. His hand must have tightened as they turned the corner, because Kenta suddenly leans in closer, even as his eyes widen at the person standing before them.

Daisuke takes it all in at a glance, which is as long as it takes for Shoutarou to recover.

"Hirose Daisuke," Shoutarou says, eerily calm. He takes a couple steps forward, his eyes never once leaving Daisuke's face. "It is you, isn't it? What are you doing here?" 

Daisuke swallows his panic. "Hey, Shoutarou." He thinks he even manages a smile. "It's been — a really long time."

"Five years," Shoutarou agrees. "Or will be, in like six months. Honestly, I thought I'd never see you again."

Daisuke can't tell if the statement is descriptive or prescriptive. "Yeah. I mean. It's been a weird couple of years. Sorry I kinda lost touch with everyone. Actually, I came with Tomoru and Jun. I'm sure they'll want to say hi as well. You were amazing, by the way. Congrats on a great performance."

He's stalling and he knows it. And judging by the way Shoutarou's staring at him, eyes sharp enough to raise a cold flush all over his skin, Shoutarou knows as well.

Which is the moment Kenta steps up. Walks right past Shoutarou and up to Daisuke, who almost flinches back. But Kenta just says, "It's good to see you, Daisuke," — and envelopes him in a hug.

It knocks the breath out of him. 

Daisuke closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the look on Shoutarou's face. So he doesn't have to wonder why he doesn't dare look farther, and see what Sho's expression looks like. He tucks his head against Kenta's shoulder and hugs him back. 

"Thanks," Daisuke whispers. "It really has."

"You look well." Kenta releases him but keeps his hands on Daisuke's arms. He studies Daisuke for a moment, then smiles. "Finally grew out your hair, huh?"

"Oh. Yeah." Daisuke's hand flies up to fiddle with a strand that's come loose from the ponytail. He catches himself in time to keep from twirling it — like he used to, he knows, with that Kisarazu wig. "Yeah. Yutaka said it looks all right, and I trust him. Well, on some things."

From the corner of his vision, he sees Shoutarou's eyes narrow. Kenta asks, "How long have you been back in Tokyo?"

"Just got in yesterday." He can do this, Daisuke thinks, if he just focuses on Kenta. "I know I didn't call or anything — I wasn't sure, since it's been so long..."

Kenta is gracious enough to interpret it as a logistical question. "My number's still the same. I think we all still have the same — ah, well, Sho's email has changed. Don't ask me why. I thought his old address was already more than professional enough for his new job."

And Daisuke can't avoid it now, as Kenta turns away to glance at Sho. 

Who just shrugs. "I wanted a clean break."

"It was a good decision," Shoutarou adds, casual to a fault. "I'd've done the same."

"What, you planning on retiring sometime soon? Because I'm pretty sure that's a breach of your contract."

"I'll retire when I'm dead. You can put _that_ in my contract for next year." Shoutarou turns to Daisuke. "So, how long are you visiting Tokyo for?"

Kenta frowns at the phrasing. Sho's expression doesn't change. Daisuke doesn't know which is worse. 

"I'm not sure," he admits. "A week or so, at least. I, ah. I have a lot to catch up on. Apparently."

At least Kenta returns his weak smile with some genuine warmth. "Well, give us a call when you want to meet up. We should get Yutaka and Seiya, too. Have a proper reunion."

Shoutarou stares at Daisuke for a second longer. Then, suddenly, breaks into a sunny smile. "Sounds like fun. I'm down for Tuesdays. Does that work for you guys?"

Daisuke follows his gaze to Sho, but it's Kenta who says, "That works. We're free next Tuesday. Unless you have a conflict, Sho?"

"No, should be fine." Sho shrugs. "You probably know my schedule better than I do."

"Look at you two," Shoutarou drawls. "Old married couple already, and it hasn't even been a year."

It's not a joke, Daisuke realizes, as Sho tenses ever so slightly, and he might have missed it if he weren't looking — if he hadn't half-expected something to the effect, from the moment they turned the corner.

Kenta looks vaguely embarrassed. "You've been making that same joke for years now, you know."

"Not my fault if I saw it coming before anyone else did."

"Yes, well." Kenta turns back to Daisuke. "So. Next Tuesday? Seiya's kind of hard to get ahold of, but I'm sure he'll want to see you."

"I'll tell Yutaka." The words sound like they're being spoken by someone else, from a distance. Daisuke tells himself he's being ridiculous. People change. And Kenta was always the kindest of them all. If he himself were a better person, he wouldn't ask, "So how long have you two...?"

Kenta glances at Sho. "Coming up on six months now," he says, and the faint smile that follows carries no hesitation. 

Sho's face is a mirror image of fondness. "Not doing too badly for myself, in my retirement."

And it's stupid, maybe. It's definitely naive, if nothing else.

Still. When he'd heard the news, back in the winter, back in Miyagi — that Sho was retiring, moving from acting to production, seeking a fresh start — some small part of Daisuke had wondered if maybe Sho would come find him.

People change, he tells himself. 

"We should get a move on if we want to make our reservation," Kenta says. "It really is good to see you, Daisuke. I'll send an email or something about next week, yeah?"

"Of course," Daisuke replies, automatic. "It's good to see you, too. All of you."

Shoutarou throws a mock salute. "A pleasure as always. Anyway, gotta go get this makeup off my face. I know, I know," he calls over his shoulder. "Hard as it is to believe, my natural face isn't actually this perfect — though it's close. See you in ten!"

Kenta laughs as Shoutarou disappears into the dressing room. 

Sho says, "Let's wait out back, stay out of everybody's hair. The staff look stressed enough as it is."

"Yeah, okay." Kenta hesitates for a split second. Daisuke considers excusing himself right there and then; he's not sure if he can handle another hug.

But in the end, Kenta just squeezes his shoulder, once, before slipping back to Sho's side.

"I'll see you soon," Daisuke says before they go. It sounds more like a reassurance to himself.

Sho just nods at him. "See you around."

Daisuke turns his back, listens to their steps fade away. He's not sure where he's going, but there's no point staying here, he knows. He'll call Tomoru later to apologize for skipping out; Tomoru will just have to understand.

It's only when he's back at the bus stop, staring down at his phone, that he realizes he never actually replied to Yutaka.

The unsent text reads: _Maybe I shouldn't be here._

His thumb hovers over the send button. The screen is blurry, he thinks. He wipes it with his sleeve, then realizes that's not it. He scrubs at his eyes, applies pressure, pinches the bridge of his nose as if to wake himself from a bad dream. It's no use.

By the time the bus arrives, his sleeves are damp and the other passengers are giving him curious looks, but he can't stop, doesn't know how to stop, has never known how to stop this kind of crushing sadness without Sho being there to carry at least some of the weight for him.


	2. Two

They wait outside the stage door for Shoutarou. It's not silent, exactly, with the nearby sounds of traffic on adjoining streets. 

Kenta is definitely giving him space. 

Which normally, he appreciates. It's one of the many things that Kenta does, unobtrusively, because it's what he needs — like letting him stew in his own roundabout thinking until he's ready to talk, or ready to burst, whichever happens first. Either way, Kenta doesn't blame him. Just listens — without judgment, but also without acquiescence — then tells him to get over himself, if necessary. And it often is. 

_Sho, I love you, but you're being an idiot._

That's what Kenta would say, if he could hear the thoughts going round and round his head right now. Those words don't sound as harsh as they used to; six months into this, Sho's come around to the fact that forgiveness can be harsh. Doesn't make it any less real.

Maybe it's the industry. Maybe it's just him. He's never really thought much about forgiveness — didn't believe in it, really. Kenta rolled his eyes, the first time Sho admitted as much, years and years ago. There was no _I love you_ to soften the blow back then, but the overall effect was the same.

Thinking back, it was probably always implied. 

It's one of the many ways in which he knows he doesn't deserve Kenta. And they've talked about that, too. 

Sho's working on it. 

And really, that's what makes _this_ work. Six months, and Sho knows exactly where they stand. Even with things unsaid, there's not much ambiguity in the way Kenta looks at him, welcomes him home to an apartment that technically still only has one name on the lease, but it's easier and easier to forget with every morning that he wakes up not alone. 

And right now, yeah, it probably does look like he needs some time to process what happened back there, backstage, turning a corner and running into somebody he'd resigned himself to never seeing again. He knows what it looks like. He knows it doesn't look good. He knows that he froze up — though everyone else had, too — and he wishes he hadn't, if only so Kenta would stop giving him space. He's had nothing but distance, when it comes to this, so space is about the last thing he needs.

Fact is — he's over it. 

He doesn't want to keep processing something he's already thought and rethought and retold to himself in every possible permutation of what-if's, if-then's, and if-only's.

There's no what-if about the way he can reach out, now, and step close. Kenta's shirt feels soft beneath his hands. It gets him an inquiring look. Sho curls both hands around his hips.

"We're in public," Kenta says. 

"We're in a badly lit alley behind a theater. Nobody's gonna pass by who hasn't seen worse."

"No reason to give everyone a show."

"Maybe I miss acting."

"Or maybe—"

The stage door bangs open; Shoutarou bounds down the steps, busily adjusting a summery hat that he definitely doesn't need at this time of night, while simultaneously checking his phone and also talking a mile a minute:

" _Wow,_ do I have gossip or _do I_ have gossip? Got to the dressing room just as Kikuchi was breaking out the guitar, and seriously, hold onto your hats because—"

Shoutarou pauses, finally, to look up and orient himself. Kenta tries to put some distance between them; Sho releases him just far enough to keep one arm settled firmly around his waist. 

"Unfortunately," Sho points out, "you're the only one here wearing a hat."

"Yeah, well." Shoutarou adjusts his head gear one last time. He grins at Kenta, a perfect look of mischief that wouldn't have been out of place when he was fifteen. "So! Where are you taking me for dinner? And does this place serve alcohol?"

"You have work in the morning."

"So does buchou."

"Let's see what they have when we get there," Kenta interjects. He smiles back at Shoutarou. "Shall we?"

Shoutarou responds with a truly excessive bow, arm flourish and all. "As you wish."

The yakiniku place that Kenta picked is one of Shoutarou's favorites. One they've been to before, many times, and as far as Sho can remember, Shoutarou's never paid for a single meal here. Even when he got old enough to be buying his own food, not to mention his own alcohol. 

Habits die hard, Sho supposes, even if you work on them.

He lets Kenta order the food and — after some bickering on professionalism and start times in the morning — he lets Shoutarou talk him into getting a bottle of hideously overpriced wine. At least Kenta likes red.

"Right, so," Shoutarou says, after he's topped off all their glasses. "We need to talk about Kikuchi."

"Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to gossip?"

"Didn't anyone teach _you_ this is show biz?" Shoutarou raises his glass. "To the death of modesty. And also innocence. Seriously, if I hadn't already been around the block enough times to have seen it all and then some, that PDA back there might've put me in therapy for the rest of my life."

Kenta flushes. "We weren't—"

"Don't joke about that," Sho interrupts. "Someone might take you seriously."

Shoutarou rolls his eyes. "Speaking of PDA, though. Kikuchi. Like, it can't even be called gossip when he's flashing his bat signal of a crush everywhere all the time. I don't understand how a grown-ass man can be so whipped for someone he's not even _dating_."

And if Kenta glances at him for that, Sho doesn't comment. If Shoutarou meant anything more than what he said, no one calls him on it.

"It's like he doesn't even know Shison," Shoutarou concludes. He takes a long sip of wine, and hums appreciatively. "Good work, team. This is excellent."

It's not, not really, but Kenta smiles so Sho lets it go. 

Anyway, what does it matter now? It's been years, and he's tired of rehashing old arguments, revisiting wounds long scarred. He watches Kenta drink wine that stains his mouth fleetingly red — it'll leave a bitter taste on his tongue later, but that's all right — and Shoutarou carries on with his gleeful retelling of what Kikuchi had said back in the dressing room, what had or hadn't been overheard, how Akazawa Tomoru had smiled knowingly through it all, and how Shison had given him a look icy enough to freeze hellfire, if it weren't already frozen over from the fact that Shison Jun had actually gone to see a show starring Kikuchi Takuya and then gone backstage _to be serenaded by an acoustic guitar_ , seriously, what the fuck?

According to Shoutarou, anyway.

It occurs to him that maybe he should care more about the way Shoutarou carries himself around others and in public. Technically, what Shoutarou does reflects badly on all of them, and he's still part of the company.

Practically, though, they've never been good at the whole professional thing. Not since Shoutarou picked up the habit of inviting himself over and tagging along to everything and assuming it only natural that Sho should treat him like a favorite kid brother, because why wouldn't he, and besides, when had he ever said no?

It seemed harmless, at the time. 

"Well, of course. They're friends, aren't they?" Kenta says, fifty minutes and an entire bottle of wine later. Sho hasn't refilled his own glass; he stopped counting how many Shoutarou's had. "They were always close, from what I remember. Them and Tomoru and — god, I can't believe I'm blanking. What's his name, from the sentai shows..."

"Ise Daiki?" Sho offers.

Kenta shakes his head, and Shoutarou says, "What, you mean Aoki Tsunenori?"

"Yes! Wait." Kenta thinks it over. "No, yes. Him. They were always close, from what you told me."

"Yeah, well." Shoutarou gives Sho a look like it's supposed to mean something. It just gets him a blank expression; Shoutarou snorts. "Kikuchi and Shison weren't like _that_. Shison barely talks to them anymore. Or about them. This one time, somebody at the office name-dropped Kikuchi — remember when his song was all over the radio for all of, like, two weeks maybe? I mean. You should've seen the look on Shison's _face_."

And yeah, Sho remembers something about that. _Takaramono_ , which he hadn't realized was written and performed by someone he knew, until he walked into the Watanabe office one day to Shoutarou practically howling with laughter as Tsuchiya Shion performed an unnecessarily dramatic reading of the lyrics.

It's not a bad song. Pretty basic, lyric wise, but the chorus is catchy as hell. And the live performance he'd looked up wasn't bad, either. Kikuchi has it in him to be a generically effective pop singer, if he wanted. 

Say what you will about Kikuchi Takuya — and Shoutarou, obviously, has many thoughts on the topic — but the guy's willing to put himself out there. Even if that means seedy coffee shops and second-rate bars, playing for people too drunk and/or too single to care.

Sho is neither drunk nor single. Still. He appreciates people who love what they do, and are good at it. One of the real reasons why he's still friends with Shoutarou, probably. 

And that's an uncharitable thought, he knows. He eyes the amount of wine left in his glass.

Kenta nudges him when Shoutarou goes to find the restroom. "Are you composing an epic blog post over there?"

"What?"

"You've had that look on your face all night." 

The waiter comes by with the bill. Kenta reaches for it while Sho searches for his own wallet. He hands over what cash he has; it's not quite half. He makes a mental note to buy some groceries later this week, maybe some of the beer that Kenta likes. Kenta won't keep track, he knows, but for his own peace of mind. 

It works, this way. 

"You okay?" Kenta asks, after the waiter's left with his credit card. 

"Just tired," Sho lies. "Shoutarou's a bit much. I'd almost forgotten."

"You haven't spent much time with him lately."

"Duly noted."

"I didn't mean it that way." 

"What way did you mean it?"

"Shut up," Kenta tells him, voice fond. He glances around; the restaurant is practically empty, and neither waitstaff nor Shoutarou are anywhere in sight of their booth. He scoots a little closer. "You've been pretty quiet ever since the theater."

He doesn't say _backstage_. He doesn't have to. Which means Sho is also free to ignore it, as long as they're all conspicuously not talking about Daisuke.

"I'd rather be home," Sho says. "That's all."

"Well, you could use some sleep. I can come over tomorrow, or—"

"I meant," Sho says, finding Kenta's hand under the table, "with you."

For a second, he thinks Kenta might retreat. Put some respectable distance between them, even if no one's watching, not right now.

But Kenta just looks at him, without judgment, without hesitation. There's nothing in his eyes but fondness, and — for a split second — a happiness as genuine as it is surprised. Sho almost asks why. Except he doesn't actually want to know why either of them should be surprised, by any of that, because that's not how this works.

He knows what he wants. And right now, he wants to take his boyfriend home.

"Okay," Kenta says, smiling. "Good."

Sho feels himself smiling back, because it is — good. And it will be even better, as soon as Shoutarou gets back and they can all get out of here. Speaking of which. He checks the time. "How long does a person need to find a restroom?"

"He's only been gone like five minutes."

"If he isn't back in another minute, I'm going after him."

"Missed me that much, Jinchan?" Shoutarou slides back into his seat, grinning at the look on both their faces. He points at Sho's wine glass. "You gonna finish that?"

"No, and neither are you." Sho pushes a glass of water at him. "Stay hydrated."

Shoutarou rolls his eyes. "Okay, _mom_." 

But he does as told, and doesn't comment when Sho announces that it's getting late, they need to go, almost as soon as Shoutarou puts the glass down again.

"Thanks for dinner," Shoutarou says, when they part ways at the door. He waves his hat as he strolls away. "See you Tuesday! Don't forget!"

Sho doesn't even bother pointing out that the two of them work in the same building, so they'll probably see each other well before then. 

A light touch on his arm, before Kenta's hand falls away again. "My place?"

"Yeah." 

It _is_ late, by the time they get back. Sho has to wake Kenta when the train reaches their stop. In the elevator up to his apartment, Kenta rests his head against Sho's shoulder while the security camera peers blearily at them; nothing it hasn't seen before. 

He changes into something more comfortable, answers emails while Kenta gets ready for bed, the soft puttering from the bathroom a familiar background track.

Eventually, the sofa dips when Kenta curls up beside him. "What time do you need to be at work?"

"Not too early." Sho puts his phone aside. Kenta's hair smells like gardenia and something earthier. "You?"

"Seven-thirty call time." Kenta sighs. "I'll see you in the evening, whenever you get back?"

"I'm here right now."

"It's late."

"You should sleep."

"So should you."

Kenta looks up; Sho kisses him. Toothpaste and mint, no hint of bitterness. 

 

* * *

 

A memory:

The room was a lot smaller than he'd expected. End to end and lone window to wall, it was just big enough for four tables pushed into a sort of square. 

There were little paper tents with names, facing away from the seats, presumably so other people could identify them. He had to lean over the table to read his own: _Jinnai Sho / Yanagisawa Shinya_.

"Morning," said the person sitting next to him. "You must be Jinnai-san."

"Yes." From here, Sho couldn't see what was written on his neighbor's name card. "Nice to meet you...?"

The kid gave him a toothy grin. "Ohkubo Shoutarou. Looking forward to working with you! I'm sure we'll learn a lot from each other."

Sho caught himself raising an eyebrow; the kid's smile widened. It was completely inappropriate, and Sho nearly laughed. 

"Good morning, everyone," said a cheerful voice, as half a dozen people entered the room. 

Sho stood to greet them — a split second slower than Ohkubo, who'd practically leapt out of his seat with a sprightly, "Good morning!"

Several people smiled. One laughed. "Indeed, Ohkubo-kun."

Sho was so busy trying to identify the various producers and assistants taking their seats, he barely noticed the person creeping up to peer at the name card next to him. At least, until said person knocked into his elbow — and then nearly did it again, in his rush to bow and apologize and back off all at the same time. 

"Oh, excuse me—!"

"No worries." Sho wondered if he was a staff person, then thought better of it. "Are you looking for your seat?"

The guy lifted his head. _Definitely not staff,_ Sho thought. Not with that face. 

"Yes. I think this is me, actually." A hesitant smile. "I'm Hirose Daisuke. I'll be playing Kisarazu Atsushi."

"Think you're in the right place." Sho gestured toward his own name tag. "Jinnai Sho. Playing Yanagisawa. You know, the _da ne_ guy."

Hirose laughed, smile turning less hesitant; it looked good on him. 

"It's nice to meet you."

 

* * *

 

A memory:

"Oh good, we're all here. Perfect." Izuka checked his watch. "We should probably head over soon."

There were still Christmas decorations hung all over the coffee shop, even though it was January. Little sleigh bells on the door chimed as customers came and went.

Sho looked around at their group. "Kobayashi's not here yet."

Izuka glanced up. "Well, no, but—"

Konishi frowned. "Is he not coming?" 

Ohkubo was on his phone. "I can text him."

Daisuke glanced from Izuka back to Sho. "Maybe we can wait another few minutes?"

"It's fine," Izuka said firmly. "What I was _going_ to say was, Kobayashi called and said he's running late. He'll meet us at the theater."

Konishi ducked his head. Ohkubo put away his phone. 

"Okay," said Sho. "In that case, let's go."

The bells rang softly when he opened the door. Daisuke was a step behind him; Sho gestured for him to go first. Daisuke smiled before burrowing back into the thick scarf looped around his neck.

Ohkubo caught the door behind him. "Go ahead." 

Sho went. If Ohkubo wanted to wait for Izuka and Konishi, that was his prerogative. Personally, Sho thought he made for better company than the two members of their party currently bringing up the rear, talking in low voices about — whatever they had to talk about. 

Daisuke, hands shoved deep in his pockets, teetered a little in a sudden gust of wind. Sho put a steadying hand on his elbow; he was shivering. 

"Poor circulation?"

"Huh?"

"You're always cold." Sho stripped off his own gloves. "Even when it's like, eighteen degrees out."

"It's barely eight degrees right now," Daisuke complained. He sighed. "I forgot my gloves."

"I noticed." Sho held out his gloves. "Here."

Daisuke blinked. Blinked again. He removed his hands from his pockets, but still hesitated. "You sure?"

"You were the one complaining."

"I mean, it's really not that cold—" 

He took one of Daisuke's hovering hands, tugged a glove over his cold fingers. The other followed. When he looked back up, Daisuke was smiling, cheeks pink from the wind.

"Thanks."

 

* * *

 

A memory:

Daisuke reached automatically for one of the coffees that Sho had bought on his way in. Sho pretended to check the writing on the cups.

"Huh. I don't see your name on any of these."

" _Jinshan_." The pout was actually audible.

Sho handed over his coffee. Daisuke smiled, mittened fingers curled around a warm paper cup. It was amazing, sometimes, the little things that made him so radiantly happy.

"Who's the other one for?" Daisuke asked.

Sho glanced at the two remaining coffees on his tray. "Our captain."

Daisuke looked surprised. "You and Kenta are okay now?"

"We had a good talk." He shrugged. "We're a lot alike, honestly. Probably why we kept butting heads. But we talked about it."

"Ah. Good." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The happiness in Daisuke's eyes was genuine. "I'm glad we all get along."

 

* * *

 

A memory: 

"Ugh," said Daisuke, with feeling. He flopped backwards on the dressing room couch, iPod in one hand, other hand and arm flung dramatically over his face. "This is the worst."

"You'll go far, with that optimism."

"Thanks for the support."

"You bet."

"Shut up." Daisuke made a scrunchy face in his general direction. "That part in the song still feels off, though. Or maybe I'm overthinking this. Am I overthinking this?"

"You're asking the wrong person." 

"Why? Because thinking's not your strong suit?"

Daisuke giggled at his own joke. He yelped when Sho nearly sat on his legs, retracting them just in time to make room. 

"You're hilarious," Sho informed him.

"Thanks." Daisuke grinned briefly. He stretched out his legs again, ankles resting on Sho's knees. "But seriously, why?"

"By the time we're off book, I've pretty much stopped thinking about character." At Daisuke's quizzical look, Sho added, "Thinking _in_ character is a completely different process. For me, at least."

He didn't know how to say more without admitting just how badly he lost himself in a character, sometimes. Maybe Daisuke would understand. But Sho had yet to meet anyone who reacted to his acting method with anything less than busybody worrying and _Do you think maybe you're taking this too seriously? It's not real life._

That was the thing, though. Because if life was about being, then how could being someone else — if only for a moment — be any less than also life?

Daisuke was fiddling with the red ribbon that Kisarazu wore. He twirled it the way a girl might twirl a long strand of hair; sometimes Sho wondered what he'd look like, in costume as the other Kisarazu twin.

"I wish I could do that," Daisuke said. "My acting teacher was always on my case about it."

"Everyone's got a different process."

"Yeah, well." 

"I think you're doing fine, for what it's worth." That got him a smile, but Daisuke still looked worried. Sho added, "Obviously, if there are things you want to change or keep working on — all part of the process, right?"

Daisuke was frowning at his ribbon. "Half the time, I feel like I don't even know what my process is. Like, it either makes sense or it doesn't. When it feels right, it just _clicks_ —" He snapped his fingers, "—and I know what to do, every line and every little detail."

"It comes to you just like that?"

"Sometimes. A lot of times." Pause. "All the time, actually." 

Sho took a second to process that. "That's amazing."

Daisuke glanced up, startled. "Really?"

"What else would you call it?"

"My teacher called it lazy. And she's right, kind of. I mean, I'm not used to thinking so much about it. Not like you or Konishi." Daisuke shrugged, smiling a little. "Yutaka said maybe I'm just not really a thinker."

"You think plenty, and you're always talking my ear off about this scene and that scene and that song." Sho nudged him. "Seriously. You see anybody else still worrying about how to interpret their character's _racquet swing_ in the middle of a group number?"

"Yuuki, probably."

"Yeah, okay, Ogoe Yuuki doesn't count."

Daisuke laughed, but it was closer to a giggle, which was good. It sounded more like him. 

"We can run through it again, if you want," Sho offered. "Downstairs corridor was empty when I came in."

"Let's do it here. It's just this one bar..." Daisuke tapped at his iPod, searching for the part of the song he'd been listening to on repeat for the last twenty minutes.

Sho stood and tugged Daisuke to his feet as well. "Corridor. Yutaka's coming in for a nap any minute now."

"Fine. Let's take the elevator, though."

"It's one flight of stairs."

"You wouldn't _believe_ how many times I've nearly walked in on Seigaku people in the stairwell. I mean, honestly." Daisuke flicked a ribbon over his shoulder; the gleam in his eyes was more playful than judgmental. "There's such a thing as supply closets, you know?" 

Sho hummed a sound of agreement. "I'll keep that in mind."

Daisuke blinked. Then he ducked his head to stifle a snort, though he couldn't completely hide his grin. Sho managed not to laugh for all of two seconds.

"Shut up." Daisuke shoved him out into the corridor. "Let's go practice."

 

* * *

 

A memory:

Daisuke fell asleep curled at his side. 

Unlike Shoutarou, who sprawled so much it was impossible to share a bed or even a floor during sleepovers — or Tera, whose chatterbox tendencies extended to sleeptalking — or even Kenta, who breathed quietly and took up as little space as possible — Daisuke huddled close, like a cat seeking heat, one hand tucked under his chin and the other curled loose around Sho's fingers.

It wasn't comfortable, exactly, but Sho didn't have the heart to move away.

He slept fitfully, but each time he woke up throughout the night, under the blankets, Daisuke's hand was warm. 

 

* * *

 

A memory:

"It's weird. I don't know. But — it kind of feels right. You know?"

Sho stuck his hands in his pockets, and waited. Kenta watched Tera wobble precariously on a balance beam, a lanky giant in the middle of a children's playground. The yellow streetlights lengthened their shadows before them.

"I think," said Kenta, "if you know, then you know. And you sound pretty sure."

"Maybe I'm overthinking it."

"You're always overthinking it."

From the middle of the playground came a whoop, as Tera successfully navigated the balance beam. He leapt to the ground with all the flourish of an Olympic gymnast nailing a medal-winning performance.

Sho hollered at him, applauding.

Kenta said, "Anyway, we all kind of figured."

Sho blinked. "What?"

Kenta shrugged. "Kishitaku pointed it out first. Which made me feel kind of stupid, seeing how I spend more time with you and Daisuke. But I guess he's known you a long time."

"Yeah. Except." He frowned. "I never told him. I didn't even know. I still don't know, not really, and maybe it's just—"

"Sho," Kenta interrupted gently. "It's fine. Seriously."

"I just don't want it to be a thing."

"You don't want what to be a thing?"

"I mean, even accounting for character bleed and everything — it's just a crush, you know? It happens. Apparently. Anyway, I don't want this to make things weird, if Daisuke finds out and, I don't know, freaks out or whatever."

Kenta made a faint, disbelieving sound that might have been a laugh. "Okay, first, your method acting really isn't good for you. And second — remember when I said we _all_ kind of figured?"

A pause.

"Daisuke probably has some idea," Kenta said. "And he obviously likes you."

"Not like _that_."

"Well, you'd have to ask him. I'm just saying — it's something, and probably not just you overthinking. Tera agrees with me, by the way."

They watched the man in question push idly at a tire swing, the chains creaking and his sneakers making scuffling sounds in the mulch. 

Finally, Sho laughed. "I can't believe you guys talk about me this much behind my back."

"Yeah, well." Kenta smiled at the ground. "What are friends for?"

 

* * *

 

A memory:

"For what it's worth," said Daisuke, after the utter fail of a surprise party he'd thrown, "I also think you're amazing. I told you before, but I mean it. The way you see the world, the way you think about things, and the way you make me think about what I do, too — you care so much about your art and your work and also everyone you work with. Really, you're one of the nicest people I've ever met, and also the smartest — usually it's one or the other, you know? Like, Jun's really nice, but he's not — I mean." A smile. "Anyway. I'm just really glad I met you. I'm glad you exist." Daisuke hugged him then. "Happy birthday, Jinshan."

 

* * *

 

A memory:

He stood between Daisuke and the TV, holding two plates of noodles, and moved said food out of reach when Daisuke tried to take it without vacating the armchair he'd been curled up on ever since he arrived half an hour ago.

"Uh-uh. Turn off the TV."

Daisuke pouted at him. "But—"

"You won't even notice what you're eating, much less appreciate it. And after I went to all this trouble."

"I so appreciate it! I appreciate your trouble, and I definitely appreciate your cooking. I love your cooking." Daisuke held out both hands again. "Please feed me?"

Behind him, a cheery anime theme song began to play. 

Sho handed him his food. Daisuke beamed at him; he shifted in the armchair, making room where there was none. "Come sit with me."

There was another chair by his desk, piled with books and scripts and Daisuke's coat, where he'd flung it earlier. It didn't seem worth the effort.

Sho sat on the floor, using the armchair for back support and ignoring Daisuke's protest that there was _so_ room for the two of them to sit together. 

"Don't worry about it. Eat before it gets cold."

He needn't have worried, honestly, as Daisuke made a happy sound. "Mm! This is so good!"

"Shh. The episode's starting."

Daisuke kicked him for that.

It was the new normal, this: a weekday night, the two of them, Daisuke sitting in his armchair and Sho with his legs stretched out almost touching the TV stand. When he'd finished eating, Daisuke would take his plate and put it aside. Later, he'd wash the dishes, too, believing firmly in the rule that the person who cooks gets a free pass on clean up. 

Sho would've felt better not letting his guest do housework, but it'd been a long time since Daisuke had been just any other guest.

When he rested his head against Daisuke's knee, Daisuke shifted his weight accordingly.

"Your hair's getting pretty long," said Daisuke during a commercial break, running his fingers through the strands to where they ended, almost past his chin now. 

"Yeah. I keep meaning to cut it. But."

"But?"

"I kind of like it."

"I kind of like it, too."

He shivered because it felt weird, having someone touch your neck. Just instinct, Sho told himself. Probably.

"Yeah?"

"Mm." Daisuke's smile was evident in his voice. "Makes you look all rakish and charming."

And was it instinct, too, that made his heart thud — once, twice — before he managed to retort, 

"You saying I'm not _actually_ rakish and charming?"

"Shut up. You know what I meant."

"Because I'll have you know," Sho said, catching Daisuke's hand, a rush of adrenaline, "I can be a real ladykiller when I want to be."

That made Daisuke laugh. "If you say so." His fingers curled around Sho's.

"You don't believe me."

"I didn't—" Daisuke yelped when Sho poked him in the side, his most ticklish spot. "Jinshan!"

"Believe me now?"

"You're not helping your case!"

Daisuke shrieked, laughing as he tried and failed to get away. Not while Sho held him firmly by the hand.

They tussled for a bit, before Daisuke simply hooked an ankle around Sho's knee, and they both tumbled back onto the armchair in an untidy sprawl.

There wasn't enough room for two of them, though they were so close now that it almost didn't matter. Daisuke opened his mouth to say something, breathless, happy, and Sho felt the movement of his chest almost as clearly as he felt the warm breath against his lips. 

For a split second, he couldn't even think. 

Daisuke looked up at him, expression not so much surprised as — expectant. As if it'd been a long time coming. And completely, unflinchingly trusting.

"Anyway," said Daisuke, "good thing I'm not a lady."

Sho drew a breath— 

"Yeah." 

—and kissed him.

 

* * *

 

A memory:

There was no rush, once he got over the initial shock that this was happening — this had happened — and this much was his. The way Daisuke looked at him, lips bitten red and face flushed with happiness, smiling as he leaned in for another kiss. Nothing frantic, nothing impatient, just the heady feeling of being wanted and loved and so close that he couldn't imagine anything being better, even if he knew, in a sort of academic sense, that there was more to it than this. 

But so what. So what if Daisuke pulled back before it got too far, hair in disarray where Sho had run his fingers through soft strands, hands clinging to clothes that would gladly bear wrinkles as proof. They could take it slow if they wanted, and who was there to tell them otherwise? 

He touched Daisuke's cheek and felt the heat against his palm, Daisuke's eyes never leaving his face. And Sho couldn't find the words to describe this — didn't think there _were_ words, for the way he felt lightheaded and unmoored and heavy as gravity but twice as inevitable.

What did he need words for, when Daisuke sighed a sound that was contentment itself, curled beside him, laid his head on Sho's chest and sometimes fell asleep just like that, expression softer than Sho had ever seen it, stripped of care, completely at home.

It felt good, just to be this close. And as for the rest, well — what did it matter, really?

They had all the time in the world. 

 

* * *

 

A memory: 

He'd gone to take care of the bill, and got back just in time to see Daisuke plant a sloppy kiss on Shoutarou's cheek. "Whoa there," said someone, while several other someones laughed, Kenta tried to edge away, and Seiya sat stone-faced at the display.

Shoutarou, true to form, solemnly turned to Daisuke — both hands bracketing his face. That got another round of laughter, as Daisuke flailed. "Ack! Okay, okay — demonstration over!"

Shoutarou released him, grinning. "And scene."

Sho resumed his seat. "Were we filming?"

Kenta raised an eyebrow; Kamitsuru laughed. Daisuke, on the other hand, blushed a deeper shade of pink. He tried to swat at Sho's arm, missed, and ended up just kind of clinging to his elbow instead. 

"They're all being mean to me."

"Rude. Don't they realize it's your birthday?"

"Wait," said someone — Seiya, maybe — "it's your _birthday_? Is that why we're all here?"

People jumped on that ("You stole the punch line and it wasn't even _funny_ , why would you!") while Daisuke giggled, still clinging to Sho's arm. It wasn't really comfortable, given that Daisuke was still wearing the jacket Sho had given him and the tiny room was already overwarm from the number of people inside. But he didn't mind. Daisuke was smiling, and Sho had made this happen — the people, the present, the perfect surprise birthday party — and that mattered more. 

Maybe he wouldn't always be able to make Daisuke this happy — not every day, every minute — but he could damn well try. 

Later, Shoutarou found him waiting outside for Daisuke and, with no preamble, said, 

"I think Seiya's actually pissed at me. Can you believe him? It's like he's never seen a guy kiss another guy before, which — this coming from the person whose whole schtick is _I'm actually bi therefore I know more than you_. Like, big whoop. I've been doing theater longer than he has, so as far as that goes, I bet we're even."

Sho blinked. "Is that what your demonstration was about?"

"Yeah. I mean — you're not mad at me for that, are you?"

"Please. You're too young to be dating."

"Hey, I'm almost seventeen!" Shoutarou's grin was just the tiniest bit relieved. "Anyway, yeah. That's the whole point. Like Dai-chan was saying: sometimes you just want to make out with people because they're hot. It happens. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"What?"

"...What?"

His mouth felt dry. "What did Daisuke say?"

"That people are attractive? Which. True. But Seiya was being super judgmental about it. I don't know what he's so mad about, I mean, it's not like _he's_ ever had a boyfriend." Shoutarou paused, looking at a point past Sho; he grinned. "Unlike some people I know."

Sho turned his head, not that he needed to, because—

"Hey." Daisuke's hand on his arm. Still wearing that jacket. Still happy. "Are you walking me home?"

Sho glanced back at Shoutarou — or rather, the spot where Shoutarou had been a second ago.

"Looks like it."

He told himself to forget what Shoutarou had said. Just Shoutarou trying to act older than his age, as usual, and overcompensating. Exaggerating. 

Just because Daisuke had said what he did—

But looking back, the last few months — all the times Daisuke had been over — all the time they'd spent — all the things he'd thought and planned for a someday they'd always have — things that Daisuke had _never_ said, or done, or in any way indicated that he wanted—

He walked Daisuke home, and thought of how two people could read the same script and come away with two totally different stories.

They stood before a door.

Daisuke said, "Come in for a bit?" Smiling. Too close.

"What for?"

"I don't know. Whatever." Daisuke's hands slid from his elbows down to his wrists, before taking his hands. "You can tell me what you're planning to do for my birthday next year."

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise."

"I'll act surprised. Anyway, even _you_ can't think of a new surprise every year." That smile again; his heart leapt— "You'll definitely run out of ideas before we stop being friends."

_It happens._

Apparently.

He found his voice after just two tries. "Think I'll take my chances."

Daisuke mock punched him; Sho caught his hand easily, and Daisuke placed the other one against his chest. Much, much too close. He should step back, except Daisuke glanced up — he should let go, except Daisuke was looking at him — he should say, _Have you ever thought about—_

Smiling lips. Hands pressed against his. An unspoken feeling that should've meant everything.

In the end, he couldn't bring himself to ask.

 

* * *

 

A memory:

"Oh, man." Tera's eyes were comically wide by the time Sho finished his story. "Wow. I had no idea. I can't believe— Wow. That's awful."

Beside him, Kenta asked, "What are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Get over it, I guess. What else is there to do?" Sho began to clear the table, taking the plates back to the kitchen. 

He'd cooked way too much food, if only to give himself something else to think about for a couple hours. The natural conclusion followed that he'd need someone to help him eat all of it, and since — Daisuke hadn't even called, in the days after his birthday; so Sho had picked up the phone and dialed the first number that came to mind.

Something he'd said or maybe the way he'd said it must've given it away, because Kenta showed up exactly twenty minutes later with Tera in tow. 

Now Kenta followed him into the kitchen, while Tera hovered in the doorway. 

"Do you think," Kenta asked hesitantly, "maybe you should talk to him? I mean—"

"What's there to talk about?" Sho turned on the faucet. He searched for the dish sponge, and couldn't find it. "I was wrong. That's it. There's nothing to talk about."

"Maybe he's wrong too?" Tera offered. "Or, like. Shoutarou's great, but he's a kid. He probably didn't understand what they were talking about."

Kenta found the sponge behind the rice cooker. He handed it to Sho, not meeting his eyes.

Sho studied him. Kenta had always had a shit poker face.

"You knew, didn't you."

"No! Well." Kenta bit his lip. "Kind of, yes. I heard Daisuke talking to Ikeoka one time — and, I mean, Ikeoka's always low-key trolling on some level, so I didn't really think much of it."

Tera's brow furrowed. "What did you hear?"

"Daisuke said something like, finding Ueda-san attractive didn't necessarily make you gay." Kenta glanced at Sho, and whatever expression he saw there made him subsequently try to melt into the wall. "I mean. Then he threw that surprise party for you, and the way he acted — I just thought. You know." Kenta looked miserable. "I assumed he was serious about you, at least. We all did. I'm sorry. I should have said something."

The faucet was still running. Tera stepped past Kenta and turned it off.

"I'll take care of it later," said Tera, when Sho started to protest. "Think we could all use a drink first."

"Buy your own damn beer," Sho told him, which was what he said every time Tera came over and cleaned him out. Tera just laughed, as he always did, and opened the fridge.

"I'm sorry," Kenta said again, while Sho looked for a bottle opener.

For a moment, Sho wondered why Kenta sounded even more upset than he did. Of course, he'd had a couple days for the shock to go numb. But still.

He squeezed Kenta's shoulder. Kenta stared at him, and Sho smiled to let him know he meant it. "I should be the one apologizing for dumping all this crap on you guys."

Kenta let out a breath. "Well. What are friends for, right?"

"You bet your ass!" said Tera, who'd already cleared some space on the table for the beers. "And hey, if you don't have a bottle opener — wanna see me open these on my shoe? I've totally done it before. Best party trick ever."

Kenta frowned at him. "Uh, no. You got beer all over me the last time you tried that."

"That was practice!"

"I got it right here," Sho said, holding up the bottle opener. No point creating more of a mess than there already was.

Not that he didn't trust his friends to help him clean it up.

And that was a nice thought to have. 

He could use more of those.

"So like, horrible people who make horrible life-ruining decisions and everything else aside," Tera said, much later, "but personally, I think appreciating Ueda Yusuke mostly just means you have eyes." Sho snorted, which made Tera grin. "Come on, admit it, Kenta. The man's face is like a revelation."

Kenta spluttered. "That doesn't— Anyway, I already told you I'm—"

"Yeah, and I'm like the straightest dude I know, and I'm agreeing with you."

"I'm with Tera on this one." 

"Sho!"

He smiled at Kenta's affronted embarrassment, while Tera snickered into his beer. 

 

* * *

 

A memory:

 _Come to rehearsal sometime??_ read the text. _I haven't seen you in ages!_

Sho dropped the phone, face down, and closed his eyes. It was true.

It'd been months, and it was almost surprising, really, how easy it was to give in to their relentless schedules and let work commitments take care of keeping them apart. Daisuke understood; they were in the same business, after all. He couldn't — hadn't — wouldn't blame Sho for that.

But it wasn't Daisuke's fault that he'd let his own stupid feelings ruin everything. Daisuke was a good person. He deserved better than this. Sho could be a better person than this.

He picked up the phone.

_I'll try just not sure when_  
_Anyway good luck_  
_Not that you need luck you overly talented freak_

The response came almost immediately.

_Shut up!!_  
_Thanks :)_

 

* * *

 

A memory:

The surprise in Daisuke's eyes when he showed up at Rikkai dress rehearsal was almost enough to make him forget the last few months. The silence and the lingering hurt — maybe it was petty of him, to feel a pang somewhere between jealousy and betrayal, each time Daisuke prefaced a text with _Tomoru said_ or _Jin and I_. He should be glad, really, for Akazawa and Shirasu, who'd stepped right into the space Sho had vacated. Daisuke needed people to talk to, if only to distract him from unhelpful circular thinking when he got into a funk about his acting. 

Sho knew the feeling. So, really, he had no right to think things like, _That should be me._ He'd made a choice. It was for the best.

Not that it stopped Daisuke's whole face from lighting up when Sho walked into the dressing room. 

"Jinshan!"

He saw the hug coming a split second before it happened, and good thing, too, or Daisuke might've knocked him off his feet with the force of it. In the corner of his vision, Sho saw one of the Rokkaku kids — Utsumi something — roll his eyes and leave, which left just the two of them. Alone. For the first time in months.

Sho firmly told himself to stop it.

"I can't believe you," Daisuke said later — after yet another hug, after he'd forced Sho to take a picture with him, and then spent about ten minutes trying to post it to his blog — "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise."

Daisuke smacked his arm. But he was still smiling, even as he glanced at the clock and said, "I wish we had more time, but I have to get ready—" Which, yeah, Sho had kind of counted on that; what he hadn't counted on was Daisuke saying, "But hey, I have a date with Jun later—"

"You— What?"

Daisuke blinked. Then he laughed. "Not like a _date_ date. Just, you know. Blowing off some steam. Having fun."

"Ah."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, _what?_ " Daisuke grinned at him, playful. "Did you really think I'd go on a date with _Jun_?"

"I don't know." But he couldn't not ask. "I mean — would you? Date a guy?"

"Of course not!" He shrugged, still smiling. "Yeah, I _like_ people. Who doesn't? But you know how it is. Anyway, I definitely don't want to get into trouble at work."

And, well.

He should've known. Had known, really, even if some small part of him — even now — wanted to believe otherwise. Stupid of him.

"Anyway," Daisuke continued, "you should come with us!"

Sho managed a smile. "Thanks, but I need to head home. Early day tomorrow. Have fun, though."

Daisuke looked put out, but he didn't argue. Just hugged Sho again. And if he lingered, just a second too long — if the hand on Sho's wrist seemed to say more than actual words—

He knew better, now. Daisuke didn't mean it. It was just how he was. And if some part of Sho insisted on being irrationally angry about the whole thing, well — he'd work on it.

It wasn't Daisuke's fault.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, those photos appeared. _Scandal!_ read the tabloid scoop. _Midnight goukon?_

He found out from Shoutarou, who nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran into the break room where Sho had been going over a script for an audition.

 _Did you see this?_ Shoutarou dropped the magazine like it'd burned him. _It's complete trash. But there's no way it's true, right? I mean, Shison's probably dumb enough to — but Dai-chan would never. Right?_

Shoutarou looked at him, imploring. Sho looked away from the magazine.

 _Of course not,_ he heard himself say. Daisuke would never.

Shoutarou, at least, believed him.

 

* * *

 

A memory:

He _was_ trying, was the thing. He was trying to be the friend Daisuke needed, offering a sympathetic ear and shoulder while too many others turned their backs, not wanting to be associated with someone so obviously out of favor with both management and fans. 

It'd been over a year. Daisuke deserved better.

If Shison Jun could come out of this no worse for a stern reprimand and a couple awkward days at the agency, then surely, Daisuke deserved a second chance, too. 

That was what Sho told himself, as Daisuke curled up next to him.

 _Can you come over?_ Daisuke had said earlier, voice cracking on the phone. _I wouldn't bother you, but — everyone's away, even Tomoru, and I just. Can you come over, please?_

Two years ago, he would've been out the door before Daisuke even finished speaking. A year ago, he probably wouldn't have picked up the phone. But he was trying, so he'd said, "Yeah," and, "I'll be right there."

They ended up watching some dumb game show, after Sho made Daisuke eat dinner — his first meal of the day — and Daisuke turned on the TV because he was incapable of paying attention to just one thing at a time. 

Which was fine. It was just how he was. He told himself that, when Daisuke sat too close to him. He didn't read into it, when Daisuke put his head on his shoulder.

A hand brushed against his. 

"Thanks for coming over," said Daisuke, sounding much more relaxed than he had on the phone. "And thanks for making dinner."

"No problem." The way his own voice sounded, Sho almost believed himself. "Anyway, wouldn't want you to hurt yourself trying to make ramen."

"Excuse your face. I'm a perfectly capable cook, I'll have you know."

"Seems like it."

"Shut up."

"I worry about you, sometimes."

"Yeah. I worry about me, too."

He could hear the smile in Daisuke's voice, and when he turned his head, he could see it, too. He looked — happy. Comfortable, at ease, as if this was exactly how things were supposed to be.

Daisuke said, "Good thing you're my friend."

Sho had a split second to register that he'd seen that look before.

And then Daisuke kissed him.

Even though he didn't mean it.

Even though he'd just said as much.

Even though he'd been trying — Sho had been trying, this entire year — despite all the bullshit and all the times other people had advised him to stay away — for his own good, if nothing else — because he'd been _trying_ his damned best to be the friend that Daisuke deserved.

He pushed Daisuke away.

"Don't." His voice was shaking. He told himself to stop. "Don't do that."

Daisuke looked confused. "What's wrong?"

What was _wrong?_ He almost laughed, because what _wasn't_ wrong? He didn't think he could summon the words with which to describe everything that was wrong, had gone wrong, and always would be, now.

He needed to leave. "I can't do this right now."

"What?" Daisuke scrambled up after him. "Jinshan, wait—"

He felt the hand reaching for his and jerked away. "Don't touch me!"

Daisuke stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you mad at me?" Voice small and frightened, and just then, Sho didn't even care. "What did I do?"

" _This._ " 

"This?"

"I can't—" Sho started to say, except. That wasn't the problem, was it? "You can't do this. You can't keep doing this to me — or to anyone. It's irresponsible. And completely unprofessional. Do you even _care?_ "

Daisuke looked as if he'd been slapped. "What do you mean I—" He shook his head, bewildered. "Of course I do! We're friends, aren't we?"

_Friends._

"Do you even know how what that means?" Sho heard his own voice rising. He didn't care. "Do you? Because this is _not what friends do!_ "

Daisuke opened his mouth. Closed it again. He blinked, then blinked again, obviously fighting back tears. And failing. "I just—" His voice caught. "I don't want you to be mad at me. I just — I wanted to spend time with you, like we used to. I miss when we'd just hang out all the time and watch TV and cuddle and—"

Daisuke reached for him. 

Two years ago, Sho would've apologized, taken it back. A year ago, he would've caved at the look on Daisuke's face. But that was then. He couldn't do this anymore. Not this time.

This time, he turned and walked away.

 

* * *

 

A memory:

"What the hell's going on with you?" Shoutarou asked, frustrated. "You've been weird ever since Daisuke's birthday. What, are you mad that Seiya threw him a party before you could? You know it wasn't even Seiya's idea, right? KY-san made him do it, since he's missed Daisuke's birthday like two years in a row. KY-san, that is. Honestly, he needs to just move to Tokyo already. I don't know if he's got a secret boyfriend in Nagoya or whatever, but he's seriously missing out on _everything_ here."

Not that distance had kept even Yutaka from realizing what had happened, Sho thought. Shoutarou, on the other hand — the last two years appeared to have completely escaped Shoutarou's notice.

Two _years_. 

Sho felt the irritation well up again, remembering what'd happened a month ago, how Shoutarou had completely steamrolled over his subtle suggestion that he was busy, he hadn't been invited, and anyway he'd rather not go. 

_The tsun act doesn't work on me, you know,_ Shoutarou said cheerfully, adding Sho to the calendar invite. _I know you love me. And Dai-chan. Anyway, I'll meet you after rehearsal!_

And so he'd ended up at yet another surprise birthday party for Hirose Daisuke.

Daisuke had been surprised, to say the least.

So was Seiya, which confirmed Sho's suspicion that Seiya had known all along. And disapproved, the way he disapproved of most things involving Daisuke. Really, it spoke to how much Seiya idolized Yutaka, that he'd been willing to throw the party at all. 

"Wait. Did you two have a fight?" Shoutarou asked, as if the thought _just_ occurred to him. "You didn't go see Dai-chan's play either. I thought maybe you'd go for senshuuraku, but — that was yesterday, wasn't it?"

Shoutarou should've figured it out by now.

He wondered what was it about Daisuke, exactly, that blinded people to reality. 

Shoutarou grabbed his arm when he tried to turn away. "Jinchan, seriously, what's going on?" His brow furrowed. "Did you — did you guys _break up_ or something?"

Or _something_. 

Sho laughed, because — if he couldn't laugh, what could he do? Shoutarou's frown deepened. He opened his mouth to ask something else, and Sho didn't want to hear it anymore. He treated Shoutarou more like a brother than like a friend. They saw each other almost every single day. Shoutarou should've been the first, not the last, to realize. 

So he said, "No. No, because you can't break up with someone you were never dating in the first place. Okay?"

He ended up telling Shoutarou the whole story, and watched the way Shoutarou's expression went from stunned to horrified to hurt. 

_Why didn't you tell me?_ Shoutarou asked at one point. _Why didn't you — I thought we were friends. I thought you trusted me._

 _Yes_ , Sho wanted to say. _Which is why you should've known._

Maybe that was unfair. But it was, at least, the end of it. 

 

* * *

 

A memory: 

He never responded to the email, though he'd read it enough times to memorize it word for word, even after he deleted the damn thing and tried to forget.

_I miss you. Can we talk sometime?  
Whenever you want. I'll be around._

 

* * *

 

A memory:

He was sitting in a corner of the cafe, watching one of the part-timers take down the last of the Christmas decorations, when his phone rang. Unknown number. He wasn't sure what made him answer. 

"Hello." 

"Sho?" 

It took him a second to place that voice. "Yutaka?"

"Yeah, it's me. Listen." Yutaka's tone was just shy of panicked. "Please tell me you know where Daisuke is. I just talked to his brother, and I don't know — he said they haven't heard anything. I went by his apartment, but he hasn't been there since before Christmas, and I've tried calling, we all have — but then I thought. Please, _please_ tell me Daisuke at least told you where he was going."

For long seconds, there was just the sound of sleigh bells ringing as customers entered and exited the cafe. It was nearly March, he thought; the decorations should have come down weeks ago. Around the time that announcement went up on the agency website. 

_Effective immediately, Hirose Daisuke is withdrawing from the entertainment industry for personal reasons. Thank you to the fans for all your support. We wish Hirose-kun the best of luck._

"Sho? Are you there?"

"Yeah."

"So do you—"

"No. He didn't tell me anything. I haven't even seen him since — last year, probably."

A beat. Yutaka asked, "Did Daisuke say anything in his emails?"

"What?"

"I know he's been emailing you. I thought it'd be good for him to talk to someone, since I'm not around all the time and—"

"What makes you think I'd want to talk to him?"

Another pause. 

"You're his friend, aren't you?" 

Sho heard himself laugh then, because. "Define _friend._ "

"I define it as someone who _cares_ about you, Jinnai Sho!" Anger overcame the panic in Yutaka's voice. "I know things have been weird between you, but whatever else happened — you're not the only person who's gone through some real shit in the last three years. Do you understand that?"

He considered hanging up. What did Yutaka know? He hadn't even been around, for most of the years in question. 

"Even without the crap from his agency and everything else," Yutaka continued, "he's been depressed and insisting that he's fine, when he's obviously not, and now on top of all that—" 

"You can't possibly blame me for—"

"Did you even read his emails?"

"No," Sho lied. "And none of your business."

Yutaka laughed an incredulous sound. "I can't believe you. I'd expect Shoutarou to pull something like that, but you — you're the one who told Shoutarou, aren't you? He was still talking to Daisuke, until whatever you told him—"

"I told him exactly what happened."

"And what do you think happened, exactly? Do you actually know? Or were you so busy feeling sorry for yourself — did you even notice that _everyone_ took your side? Even Seiya! Whatever else happened between you two, Daisuke still cares about you. And what you think of him. Do you get that? He blames himself for the fact that the six of us don't all hang out anymore — oh, don't even try to agree with that, Sho, because it's your fault, too!"

Yutaka hung up on him. 

Sho put down his phone. Then silenced it, when it started ringing again. Names flashed across the screen: Shoutarou, Kenta, Tera, Shoutarou, Youichirou, and Shoutarou again. There were eight missed calls and twice as many unopened messages, by the time Kenta arrived. 

The part-timer had finally taken down the sleigh bells, so he only noticed when Kenta sat down beside him. 

"I got a call," Kenta said, "from Yutaka."

Sho examined the dregs of his coffee. "Yeah."

The silence was unbearable.

"Do you—"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"Okay," said Kenta. "Though, what I was going to say was — do you want another coffee?"

When he looked up, Kenta was giving him a faint smile — somewhere between affection and resignation. Strange, that, Sho thought. He wondered why Kenta still seemed to believe the best in him. He wondered if Kenta — or Seiya, or anyone else — also blamed him, the way Yutaka said. 

Maybe he should have asked. There were plenty of things, apparently, that he should have done. But there was nothing left to do, now.

So he just said, "Yeah," and, "Sure," and let Kenta buy him a coffee.

 

* * *

 

The bedside clock reads 2:59. Beside him, Kenta breathes quietly in his sleep. 

In two hours or so, the birds outside will be raising a racket. In three hours, Kenta's alarm will go off. In five hours, his own alarm will remind him that he needs to get ready for work. Twelve hours after that, he'll come back here and find Kenta waiting with a smile and a _Welcome home_.

And they'll have to talk about it at some point, if only to say there's nothing to talk about.

In five days they'll meet up with Shoutarou, Yutaka, Seiya — if anyone can get ahold of him — and Daisuke. And five days after that, or however long he decides to stay — who knows?

It doesn't matter, really. What matters is that Kenta is here — has been and will be.

People come and go. Things are lost, and life goes on, and none of it matters, really, compared to that which remains and remains unbroken, unchanged.

So they'll talk about it. And they'll continue on.

He closes his eyes and listens to Kenta's steady breathing. It's another hour before he finally dozes off. Outside, an impatient bird chirps in anticipation of dawn.


	3. Three

Daisuke doesn't cry himself to sleep. He's done that before, and he'd turned his back on that and more when he left this city the first time. He'd left, back then, because there'd been nothing and no one in Tokyo worth crying over anymore.

He didn't come back for them, Daisuke reminds himself between one bus stop and the next. The tears stop somewhere along the way and he doesn't bother to keep track. By the time he returns to his cramped little room, washes his face, responds to Tomoru and Yutaka's inquiring texts — _Long day, talk to you tomorrow_ — his hands barely shake when he turns off the lights and crawls into bed. 

He didn't come back to change anyone's opinion of him. He'd left one winter night, five years ago, because he couldn't stand what everyone thought of him, how no one seemed to think of him as his life and career came apart at the seams.

What does it matter? He'd stitched himself back together, hadn't he — piece by piece and day by day in Yui's pottery shop as the seasons passed without so much as a rumor of scorn.

So why should it matter? He's come back — not because he needs someone worth crying over, but because he refuses to be defined by the memories that once drove him away.

He left Tokyo once because of Tokyo. The next time he leaves, if and when he goes, he wants it to be for himself. 

And if that's selfish, well. He's had five years to think about all the ways he'd been selfish — the way he demanded and _expected_ other people to be there for him, always, unconditionally. Maybe some part of him will never stop wanting the warm reassurance of unwavering belief, an irreplaceable someone to talk to and squabble with and take comfort in, but he knows he can't expect that now.

People change.

And Daisuke is done crying over things he can't have.

He falls asleep clutching the pillow hard enough to leave marks on his own skin, and there's no one to see them but him, so what does it matter?

 

* * *

 

_How'd it go? Hope everything's ok._

Daisuke stares at the text from Yutaka. He watches the time change from 11:30 to 11:31, lying in bed still. His hair tickles his cheeks, the back of his neck, the tie having come loose sometime during the night.

It feels a bit too on-the-nose, even for Yutaka.

He's debating between _It was fine_ and _Shoutarou's really grown up huh_ — when the phone rings with an incoming call.

He answers before he can second guess this, too. "Hey."

There's a pause. "Don't tell me you're still in bed." Yutaka's voice is colored with affection; mostly, Daisuke hears the worry layered beneath. "What happened to you being an insufferable early-morning person?"

Daisuke closes his eyes, though he hasn't been able to fall back asleep, not since waking at six from a heart-pounding dream that faded too quickly for him to remember the what or how or why.

"I'm up." And if his voice sounds a little hoarse, well. Yutaka can believe he just woke up. "And I get to sleep in if I want. I'm on vacation."

"Fair enough. So, what are your vacation plans for today?"

"Don't know. Thought I'd just see how it goes."

"How about you come see me? Let's get lunch. Or breakfast for you, I guess."

"I told you, I'm up." Daisuke untangles himself from the blankets. His hair tie rolls onto the floor. He picks it up. "I could use lunch, though."

"Couldn't we all." Which doesn't make much sense, but Daisuke accepted long ago that Yutaka comes with his own logic. Sometimes, it's even a good thing. "You wanna meet me here? Or I could come to you. Give you time to put on your makeup and everything."

Daisuke catches himself rolling his eyes. "Shut up. Anyway, who says I need makeup to look this cute?"

"Please. You definitely have the worst bed head ever right now. Go outside and see if sparrows don't try to nest on your head."

"Speaking from experience, are we?"

Yutaka laughs like it's the best joke he's heard all day. "Now I know you're actually awake. Good. I'll be there in about an hour, okay?"

Daisuke smiles at the hair tie around his wrist. "Yeah. Sounds good."

In the shower, he thinks about the way Yutaka had said _What happened to you being a morning person?_ Five years happened, is the easy answer. Except that doesn't really explain why Daisuke wanted to ask him, _Do you miss the person I used to be?_

It's not just about how much time has passed. If it were, he thinks, shivering as the hot water runs out — then, surely, Shoutarou wouldn't still hate him.

They meet at the bus stop, and Yutaka doesn't comment on the way Daisuke's pulled his hair into a tight knot and hidden under a baseball cap. Yutaka's wearing a shirt bright enough to neutralize any effort to fade into the background, especially as he loops his arm around Daisuke's and declares, with a sunny grin, that they'll be having lunch somewhere worthy of people as beautiful and charming as the two of them.

He wasn't kidding, Daisuke realizes when Yutaka leads him to a tea parlor that's practically palatial in decor. 

He probably shouldn't have worn the baseball cap.

"So," Yutaka says — after he's overridden Daisuke's feeble protest at the menu prices and ordered tea and finger sandwiches and flashed a smile that had the waiter stumbling over his words. Yutaka folds his hands neatly on the table. "Tell me about the show."

Daisuke stops fiddling with the carnation adorning their table; it's real, though so perfect he'd wondered, for a moment. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, how was it?"

"It was good. You know. Kikuchi was — he's really good."

Yutaka raises an eyebrow. "Didn't realize you were into that kind of thing. I think I have a copy of his CD somewhere, if only because — well. But you?"

"I haven't turned into a sap, if that's what you're wondering." 

"Didn't even cross my mind."

"I mean, I still don't think he's the greatest _actor_ , but he's — really committed to his art. I respect that."

Yutaka hums a vague agreement. "Did you go backstage after?"

"Yeah. Tomoru wanted — well, Jun supposedly wanted to say hi to Shoutarou, but I think they ended up spending the whole time with Kikuchi."

"Did you see Shoutarou?"

"I seem to remember he was in the show."

"You don't have to act like this is an inquisition," Yutaka says mildly. He pauses when their tea arrives, with little candles warming the pots and everything. Yutaka waits until after the waiter has left to continue. "You sounded anxious when you texted, is all."

He sips his tea. Daisuke fishes the delicate slice of lemon out of his own teacup. The tea is a light amber, and he's already forgotten its name. 

"I ran into Utsumi," Daisuke says. "Literally. At the bus stop, when I was texting you yesterday."

"Utsumi?"

"From Tenimyu. He was Saeki? Remember?"

"Oh, right!" Yutaka smiles as he remembers. "Hey, speaking of which, did I tell you I know his mother? We met at this after party when — well, that's not important. Fabulous woman, quite a performer. Runs in the family, I guess. Though she didn't even mention him until someone else pointed out I probably knew her son. Explains a lot about him." Yutaka sets his cup down in its saucer. "So did he recognize you?"

Daisuke blinks and tries to absorb all this. He ends up filing most of it away for later. "Yeah. We ended up getting smoothies before the show. It was—" He reconsiders _good_. "It was kind of weird, to be honest."

Yutaka refills his teacup. "Weird how?"

Daisuke shrugs. "Apparently, he once conjectured that I'd left Tokyo because I'd gotten a girl pregnant."

Yutaka doesn't actually spit out his tea, but it's a near thing. Daisuke hands him a napkin. From the corner of his eye, he sees their waiter give Yutaka a concerned look; Daisuke tries for a smile that's both reassuring and threatening. The waiter looks away.

"Okay," Yutaka says after he's gotten himself under control, "but like, are you _sure_ this is the same guy who was in Tenimyu? Or did he not talk to you at all during any of the musicals you did together?"

"We weren't close." If Yutaka doesn't remember how miserable he'd been, back then, alone and friendless with a new cast that held him at arm's length — for reasons professional or otherwise — well. Most of the blame probably belongs to Daisuke's own unwillingness to admit just how awful it'd been. "Anyway, yeah. That happened. "

Yutaka shakes his head, smiling to himself. "Every time I think you can't possibly surprise me anymore, Hirose Daisuke."

"This one's all Utsumi."

"Mm. So what happened after?"

"He gave me his number and told me—"

"I meant the show. Backstage. You must've seen Shoutarou, if you went to say hi to Kikuchi."

"I ran into Shoutarou, yeah." Daisuke takes off his cap after the brim nearly knocks the teacup out of his hands when he misjudges a sip. His hair is probably sticking up weird now. He quashes the urge to let it down.

Yutaka waits, obviously expecting him to continue. Daisuke pours more tea. 

Yutaka asks, "Did _he_ recognize you?" 

"You know Shoutarou. Never one to pass up a networking opportunity." The tea glistens, dark amber in his cup. "Though I'm not really a professional asset anymore, so maybe he was just being nice."

He drinks his tea. It tastes like irony, or maybe it's just steeped for too long. Daisuke lifts the pot lid to take out the teabag.

Yutaka's hand covers his. "Dai-chan." The lid clinks back into place under the combined weight. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Daisuke summons a smile. He withdraws his hand. "Sorry. It's just weird, I guess, coming back after all this time and finding that Utsumi's actually an adult and Shoutarou's — well, I guess Shoutarou's always been mature for his age."

"He hates being told that, you know." The note of regret makes Daisuke look up. Yutaka smiles wryly. "Or, well, it must've been nice when he was like, fourteen. But the older you get, the more it sounds like people reminding you that they still consider you a kid."

And Daisuke — has never thought of it that way before. It makes sense, that if five years have changed him, then the same amount of time would have changed Shoutarou as well.

Daisuke start to say, "I probably owe him an apology" — when something buzzes loudly.

"Sorry." Yutaka reaches for his purse. "Must've forgotten to silence it."

Daisuke searches his own pockets. "No, I think it's me..."

Then he glances at his phone, and understands. It's a group message — from Kenta — and there are five other names listed among the recipients. 

_Reunion?_ reads the subject line, followed by: _Hey everyone. It really has been too long. For those who don't know, Daisuke is in Tokyo (welcome back, Daisuke!) so this seems like the perfect time for a ten-year reunion. How's this coming Tuesday, the 26th? Lunch, dinner, or drinks, depending on everyone's availability. Other suggestions welcome! -Your captain, Kenta_

Kenta still texts like he's writing a letter, Daisuke thinks. He glances across the table at Yutaka, who's staring at his phone like the screen is showing him a foreign language.

Yutaka looks up, meets his eyes.

"Kenta was there," Daisuke manages. "Yesterday."

"And Sho?"

"Yeah."

Yutaka sighs. "Dai-chan..."

"Kenta said Seiya might be busy, but I was supposed to ask you if you're free on Tuesday — sorry I forgot. Can you make it?"

"You should have just said."

"I really did forget—"

"I should have said something earlier, too," Yutaka goes on. "But I thought maybe you'd get a chance to talk to everyone separately. And, well. That was my fault."

"It's fine, Yuu. Really."

Yutaka looks at his phone again, pursing his lips as a new message appears — from Shoutarou, Daisuke confirms, sneaking a glance at his own screen. 

_Buchou!!!!! I'm down for lunch or drinks after 9_  
_Or drinks before lunch_  
_Either works_

"Well that's excessive," Yutaka says.

"The exclamation marks or the day drinking?"

Yutaka shakes his head. "I haven't seen Shoutarou in months. The last time must've been before Sho and Kenta—" He cuts himself off abruptly, which is arguably worse than the supposedly shattering truth he'd been about to drop on his unsuspecting friend.

Daisuke isn't that fragile. "Before they started dating?"

A pause. "Yes. Sometime last year. I said something about how Sho's probably retiring to spend more time with his secret girlfriend — I was joking, obviously. But Shoutarou practically bit my head off."

"You weren't too far from the truth."

Yutaka snorts. "Except for the part about who, what, when, where, and why. Anyway, it was a joke. Just found out a little too late that Shoutarou doesn't have much of a sense of humor when it comes to Sho."

"Shoutarou's always been protective of — his friends." Daisuke lifts his teacup; the tea has gone cold. He puts it back down.

Yutaka refills Daisuke's cup from his own pot. "I don't know if I'd call it protective."

"Obsessive seems harsh."

"More like overcompensating."

Daisuke pauses, cup raised halfway to his mouth. "For what?"

"We haven't spoken since that incident," Yutaka says instead. "Though I've seen him around. And I know it's just me speculating, but you have to give me some credit — I knew about you and Sho before either of you even realized, I bet."

And it shouldn't hurt, since he isn't made of the same porcelain as the teacup that clatters in its saucer when he puts it down. His voice is marginally steadier when he answers,

"That was the problem, I think."

The pause goes on for so long, Daisuke hears his phone buzz again. He doesn't look. Neither does Yutaka. 

"I crossed a line, didn't I?" are Yutaka's next words. He sounds genuinely contrite. "We don't have to talk about it. Sorry."

"No, it's—" Except it's not fine. Not really. "It was a long time ago. Everyone's moved on. Though I guess Shoutarou still holds a grudge like nobody's business. I assume that's why he and Seiya were always such good friends."

Yutaka makes a humming sound. "That's one way of looking at it."

"Yeah, well." Daisuke can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. "So — _are_ you free on Tuesday? Please say you are."

"I should be, yeah. Actually, hang on." Yutaka taps something into his phone. Daisuke hears the _whoosh_ of an outgoing message; he checks his own phone, but the new messages in the group chat are all from Kenta. Yutaka says, "There. I'm officially free on Tuesday."

"I didn't mean you had to cancel plans—"

"Nah, it wasn't anyone important." Yutaka grins at Daisuke. "Plenty more fish in the sea, as they say."

Daisuke finds himself smiling as well, possibly from exasperation, or maybe relief. "Living your ideal life, huh?"

"You know it," Yutaka says cheerfully. "Plus, there's a lot less laundry to do when you sleep in other people's beds."

"I really didn't need to know that."

"Too much for your delicate country sensibilities?"

"Too much for anyone's sensibilities."

Yutaka laughs. "Life goal achieved."

It's a pleasant sound, Daisuke thinks. A bit of weird, and a lot of honesty — and he does have to give Yutaka credit for this, if nothing else. It's not something that can be said for most other people or memories of Tokyo. 

Their food finally arrives, and Daisuke lets Yutaka swap half of each sandwich on their plates so they can both try a bit of everything. Between bites, Yutaka tells him stories about some of the worst mishaps on his cooking show — including a truly unbelievable blender explosion — and by the time the tea candles have burned down, Daisuke is laughing so hard that he can no longer hear the occasional buzz of both their phones. 

 

* * *

 

_Ah, sorry can't make it tonight :( see you Tuesday tho!_

If Shoutarou's communication style is excessive, Seiya's is the embodiment of faux casual. Daisuke can almost see him carefully considering each punctuation mark, debating when and where to employ a missing comma for maximum effect.

Maybe he's being harsh. The extended back-and-forth between Seiya and Shoutarou in the group chat gives him no reason to believe otherwise — that everything about this is perfectly normal, no subtext, no mean-spiritedness beneath the snark. Everything from the bad puns to the inside jokes to Kenta eventually stepping in to ask them to focus, and please agree on a time and place to meet. 

The entire exchange is too in character to be real. 

Daisuke closes the group thread and goes back to the text Seiya had just sent him, separately, when Daisuke asked if he wanted to get dinner tonight and catch up. The problem with not having a copy of whatever script everyone is reading: you only notice you've said something wrong if or when someone else misses a cue.

He writes back, _No worries! See you Tuesday :)_

His phone starts ringing almost before he's hit send. Daisuke hesitates a split second before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hello yourself," Tomoru says cheerfully. "Got any plans tonight?"

Daisuke glances at the laptop open on his bed. Online shopping probably doesn't count. "No, not really. I was thinking of doing some reading and maybe—"

"Perfect. Let's go out."

"Go out where?"

Tomoru makes a humming sound. "You'll like it, don't worry."

"I'm not worried."

"Well, you're definitely not _reading_ , so unless you have a better excuse, meet at my place in an hour. I just texted you the address."

Daisuke feels his phone buzz with said text. He tries, "Honestly, Tomoru, I'm kind of tired."

There's a pause. Then,

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just had a long day—"

"No one's seen you since we went to Kikuchi's show. I was starting to worry that something happened and you'd run back to Sendai."

"Nothing happened. And I'm not — I just saw Yutaka yesterday."

"So what did you do today?"

"I'm not lying to you, Tomoru."

Another pause. 

"I didn't say you were." Tomoru's voice is infinitely gentle. "Come to my place. We don't have to go out if you really don't want to, but I'd like to see you. We'll watch a movie or something. Humor me?"

It's so typically Tomoru, Daisuke thinks, to guilt-trip someone by yielding the moral high ground. Disguising sympathy as selfishness. Making it seem like you're the bigger person here, when really, it's Tomoru who's making the compromise. 

Not that it stops Tomoru from getting what he wants in the end. Or Daisuke from knocking at his door, exactly one hour later.

Tomoru lets him in with a sunny grin. "Welcome to my humble abode. Make yourself comfortable."

"It's nice," Daisuke says reflexively, before realizing that — right, of course; he's never seen this apartment before. Five years ago, Tomoru had been dropping vague hints about getting a new place; by the time he actually moved, Daisuke was already gone. 

No point overthinking it now. 

"Want a drink?" Tomoru asks, disappearing into the kitchen. "Tea? Soda? I think I still have some beer from when Kou-chan was over."

"Just water would be fine."

"Or—" The sound of cupboards opening. "I also have this bottle of champagne that's been sitting around going to waste."

"Really, you don't need to trouble yourself."

Tomoru appears in the kitchen doorway holding an ornate bottle. "You're not going to make me drink alone, are you? I'd like to believe I'm not _that_ sad."

"I wouldn't—" Daisuke looks around the neat little apartment. It's not much, but there are books on the shelves and shoes by the door; letters and scripts stacked side by side; little mementos tucked among everyday things. "You're not sad," he finishes.

Tomoru just looks at him for a second. He's smiling faintly. "How about this: nobody is allowed to be sad right now. Instead, we're going to drink this overpriced champagne and talk shit about Junjun because — trust me — he deserves it."

"He does?"

"You saw how he was with Takkun." Tomoru gestures toward a high cabinet. "Glassware's in there." 

Daisuke has to stand on tiptoe to reach the top shelf. He returns to find Tomoru sitting on the sofa, examining the bottle of champagne. Daisuke sets the glasses on the coffee table.

"Are you guys still meeting up on Tuesday?" Daisuke asks.

Tomoru makes a humming sound. "Hopefully." He glances up. "I'd invite you for a double date, but I don't think I'm your type. And I assume you'll be busy."

"Who says I have a type?" Daisuke sits down next to him.

Tomoru shrugs. "Apparently Shoutarou cancelled on three separate people to clear his Tuesday schedule — which, by the way, thanks. Pretty sure Jun only knows because he was planning to barnacle his way into one of those outings and pretend like he has a schedule conflict."

Daisuke blinks. "You're welcome. I think."

"I owe you one." With no further warning, Tomoru pops the champagne cork.

Daisuke has already jumped out of his seat — before he notices that, of course, nobody's eye has been put out and the bottle is only fizzing pleasantly. Another one of Tomoru's superpowers. He sits back down. 

"So," says Tomoru, topping up both champagne flutes. The bubbles sparkle and foam when he lifts his glass in a toast. "To co-conspirators."

Daisuke lets him clink their glasses together. "You're not planning to ditch at the last minute and leave them on an accidental date, are you?"

"Plausible deniability."

"Okay, if Jun asks, I knew nothing about this."

"Please. He won't think to ask. Even if he does, it won't be the right question."

The champagne tingles in his mouth. "Did something happen," Daisuke asks, "between the two of them?"

"Should something have happened?"

"What?"

"You saw the way Takkun still looks at him?" Tomoru takes a long sip of champagne. "Jun's never been good at appreciating how good he has it. Both that, and the way Watanabe continue to protect him like he's their sacred cow. Which, in fairness, he might be."

"Cows are female."

"Junjun looks pretty good in a dress."

"Please tell me it was for work."

"Oh, don't worry." Tomoru grins at him. "You're still prettier."

Daisuke can feel a touch of heat on his face; whether it's from the alcohol or the compliment — unclear. "Is this the part where I concede that you're still the fairest of us all?"

"Nah, that's Someya." 

"You still keep in touch?"

Tomoru makes a sound that's not really an affirmative. "It wasn't fair, you know," he says, "what happened to you."

The glass clinks against Daisuke's teeth as he misjudges a sip. "It was a long time ago," he says, though he's not sure which part Tomoru's even referring to.

He gets his answer when Tomoru snorts. "Your agency tried to kick you to the curb, and meanwhile, Jun — who, let's remember, wasn't even twenty yet — meanwhile Junjun gets a slap on the wrist and half a dozen drama auditions."

Daisuke looks away. His glass is empty; so is Tomoru's. He refills both.

"It wasn't fair, Dai-chan," Tomoru says. "Everyone knew that, even if they couldn't say it."

"It doesn't matter," Daisuke tells him. "Anyway, you were there for me."

"The rest of them should've been as well."

"They were. Maybe not in public, but—"

"The part I never figured out," Tomoru continues, as if he can't hear Daisuke, "is whether the suits made them stay away from you or if they just didn't have the balls to make their own decisions. Fifty-fifty, I bet."

"It was everything." Daisuke ducks Tomoru's inquiring look. "I was toxic for a while, yeah, but more than that — I thought about it a lot, while I was away. Yui talked me through some of it. You find out who your friends really are, right? If I'd been worth the trouble, I'm sure they wouldn't have..." 

He doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Not in one sentence, anyway. If he'd been a better listener, maybe Seiya wouldn't have slow-faded him. If he'd been less self-absorbed, maybe Kenta wouldn't have quietly left him alone. If he'd been a better person, in general, maybe Shoutarou wouldn't still hate him.

And if he could do everything over, starting from the moment they first met, then maybe — just maybe, this time — he wouldn't take Sho for granted. 

Tomoru's hand finds his.

Daisuke knows his fingers must be cold, both from the champagne and because they're always cold. Sho used to lend him gloves, or place a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, and no one ever once joked that Sho always treated him like a girlfriend rather than best friend — and Daisuke never thought to ask why not.

In retrospect, it was obvious.

"Will you be okay," Tomoru asks, "seeing all of them?"

Daisuke takes a deep breath. Smiles. "Yeah. It's fine. Seiya's the only one I haven't talked to yet, and I think he's only going because Shoutarou bullied him into it."

"The more things change."

"Right." Daisuke manages a smile. "Anyway, Yutaka'll be there. So seriously, don't leave Kikuchi alone with Jun on my account. He doesn't deserve that."

"Jun secretly likes it."

"I meant Kikuchi."

"He not-so-secretly likes it." Tomoru eyes the amount of champagne left in the bottle. "Platonic ideal of a tortured artist life. The pining, the writing, the iTunes charting single that's so obviously about his feelings for a certain someone — you know I had to practically sit on Isedai to keep him from letting the cat out of the bag?"

"What do you mean?"

"Takkun. He still thinks we don't know." Tomoru refills their glasses. "As if anyone could have missed it. He's a lot of things, I'll grant you, but a subtle songwriter is not one of them."

Daisuke backtracks through what Tomoru said. "Wait. You're saying that _Takaramono_ is about—"

"The one and only."

"Does _Jun_ know?"

"In his defense, he was probably the first one to realize Takkun had a crush on him. He didn't freak out or anything — so again, working theory that Jun secretly likes it. But then everyone else noticed, and _then_ Takkun went and wrote the most embarrassing song of all time, and now. Well."

" _Takaramono_ isn't that bad," Daisuke tries. "If you're into that kind of thing."

Tomoru quirks a smile. "I was talking about his first song."

Daisuke blinks. "How many songs has Kikuchi written for him?"

"More than he deserves, definitely." The empty champagne flute dangles from Tomoru's fingers. "If he doesn't show on Tuesday, I'll actually kill him."

"So much for plausible deniability."

"I plead guilty." Tomoru drops his head against the backrest. "You remember how they used to be? I miss that. I miss being able to spend time with all my friends."

Daisuke knows that feeling a little too well.

There's not much champagne left, but what there is he splits between their glasses. Daisuke clinks his glass against Tomoru's, which earns him a fond look.

"To old friends," Tomoru says, and downs the rest.

Daisuke follows suit.

"This is really good," Daisuke says, when the silence is comfortable again. "Really. I almost feel bad you wasted it on me."

"You're not a waste, Dai-chan."

"No, I know. But I'm not really the person who'd properly appreciate a bottle of vintage champagne. You know? Though I do like it."

"I don't have anyone who _would_ be that person. Junjun just drinks whatever his senpai buy him."

"And Kuwano-san still drinks beer?"

"Kou-chan is always on-brand."

"What does Kikuchi drink?"

"Apart from his own sorrows?" Tomoru's lip twitches as Daisuke giggles into his empty glass. "I don't know. He always disappears before I can get him properly drunk and confess something really incriminating."

"Is that what you're doing to me right now?"

"Is it working?"

Daisuke sticks his tongue out in lieu of a response, and this time, Tomoru actually laughs. It's nice, that he can still make Tomoru laugh. Sadness doesn't suit his friend.

He puts his head on Tomoru's shoulder, and Tomoru moves his arm to accommodate him. Daisuke feels a warm hand gently touching his hair. Maybe he should mind, that Tomoru's petting him like you'd pet a cat; but this is nice, too.

"Do you miss him?" Tomoru asks.

"Who?"

"Jinnai Sho."

Daisuke looks at the empty champagne flutes on the coffee table, next to a couple scripts and DVDs. It's a familiar enough sight, even if the memory feels like it's from a lifetime ago.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

He buries his face in Tomoru's shoulder. "It doesn't matter, does it? Even if — I don't want to think that's why I'm here. Because it's not."

"You're allowed to have multiple reasons for coming back."

"Maybe." Daisuke thinks about the weight of a new script in his hands, the crinkle of pages rumpled from being in his bag too long, specked with coffee stains, highlights marking the lines that belong to him. There'd be notes, too — his handwriting, but words hashed out with someone else sitting across from him. Someone who talks with and laughs with and cares about him, understands him even when he doesn't understand himself. "Maybe I just miss the person I used to be. Doing something I'm good at. Performing. Hanging out with people and just — talking."

"You can still do that. Like right now."

"No, I know. And this is good. I like how you're still—" Daisuke makes a vague gesture, "—so _you_."

Tomoru snorts, but he doesn't disagree. "And you're still you."

Daisuke smiles to himself. "Thanks."

"Really, though." Tomoru nudges him until he sits up. "You could. There's plenty of open casting calls if you're not picky about it. I can talk to Takkun. He'd know."

"I haven't decided anything yet. I mean, I appreciate it. But."

Tomoru regards him for a long moment. "All right. Well." He unfolds himself from the couch, gathers up the empty bottle and glasses to take to the kitchen. "Let's go somewhere."

"Go where?"

"Somewhere fun. Let's go dancing." The faucet turns on, then off. Tomoru reappears, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He smiles at Daisuke. "Come on. I'll do your hair for you and everything."

Daisuke's hand flies to his head, instinctive, which makes Tomoru laugh. 

"Humor me," Tomoru says, and takes Daisuke by the hands to drag him up off the couch. 

Daisuke lets him.

Maybe because he trusts Tomoru, after everything, to still be who he is. Maybe because he's a little tipsy, still, and this is hardly the worst idea he's ever had. Or maybe because Daisuke has always liked having someone pamper him, just a little bit — fixing his hair, applying a touch of makeup and a truly excessive amount of lip gloss, trying on various pieces until they find an outfit that actually fits Daisuke, and laughing when Tomoru playfully throws a feathered boa around his neck.

He's allowed to have more than one reason, Daisuke supposes. 

He ends up wearing the boa. Because why not; Tomoru calls a cab, so it's not like anyone will see him on the bus in this get-up. 

The moment that gives him pause is when the cab pulls up at the club that Tomoru decided on, and Daisuke sees the line winding up to the door. But Tomoru just takes his hand and leads him around the corner, down an adjoining alleyway, and to a back door.

There's a guy leaning against it — a loiterer sneaking a cigarette, Daisuke thinks, until the man sees Tomoru and nods a greeting. "Long time no see, Akazawa-san."

"Too long," Tomoru agrees. He gestures at Daisuke. "Old friend of mine. If anyone asks, you didn't see him either."

"No idea who you're talking about," Loiterer-kun says, and opens the door for them. "Enjoy yourselves."

Tomoru never once lets go of Daisuke's hand. The music is loud enough to disorient him, mask the way his heart pounds faster than the kick drum beat. Tomoru leads him past the bar, winding between people on the dance floor. 

It's crowded, and dark, and Daisuke feels a slight panic as people keep bumping into him; he apologizes on instinct, though he's sure no one can hear him. Tomoru bounces at his side, leading him through the crowd in search of some floor space.

The third time Daisuke pauses to say sorry to someone who doesn't even spare him a second glance, Tomoru laughs and whispers — shouts — into his ear, "Stop stalling, start dancing!"

Daisuke opens his mouth to apologize for that as well — and then the beat changes. Someone cheers. Someone else joins in, shouting the lyrics, and then everyone's doing it and when he can hear the music properly again—

He knows this song. Heard it on the radio while he was sweeping up Yui's workshop, the broom as good a dance partner as any when the beat is this catchy. 

It sounds better, here. 

Tomoru smiles at him, his face flickering in the colored lights, eyes crinkling as he sings along with the rest of the club. Daisuke finds himself laughing as well, and to hell with it.

He dances. 

The song fills his ears, lights blinding when he throws his head back, Tomoru's smile always peripheral. And this — this is _fun_. He's missed this. He loves this. Even if no one is paying attention. He doesn't need an audience for this part. 

_He_ loves this.

Maybe that's reason enough.

 

* * *

 

"Good," is all Yui says when Daisuke calls her the next morning. "About time you stopped freeloading on my couch and became a productive member of society again."

"I have never slept on your couch," Daisuke points out.

"Semantics. Anyway, do you have a place to stay? I'll send you some money soon as I get paid for last month's orders, but it might be a while—"

"Yui."

"What?" Her tone is defensive.

"Stop worrying," Daisuke tells her. He hopes the smile is evident in his tone, because he is — smiling. "And thank you. For taking care of me."

"I call it exploiting relatives for cheap labor." Yui's voice is wry, but Daisuke can hear the quick hitch in her breath. "Okay. Well. Let me know how it goes."

"I will."

She hangs up first, which is typical. Daisuke is still smiling when he lowers his phone; the screen shows a faint reflection of him — hair tied back, no hat this time — and there's nothing wrong with that. He likes the way it looks. 

He calls the number he'd entered into his phone. It connects, eventually.

"Hey, Utsumi-kun. Yeah, it's me. Hirose. Sorry for calling out of the blue. I was wondering — do you think I could practice with you guys at the studio for a few days?"


	4. Four

"Jinnai-kun, if you have a minute, can you run this down to Okamura-san?"

"Yes! Right away." Sho nearly sends his office chair into his neighbor's desk; Sakamoto stops the rolling chair's trajectory with a well-placed foot, not even looking up from his paperwork.

The admin assistant hides a smile at the way he'd practically jumped out of his seat. She hands over a thick yellow envelope. "No need to rush. But thank you."

"Of course. Won't take a minute."

He throws on his suit jacket and heads for the elevators, envelope in hand. His brisk pace isn't quite quick enough to avoid hearing Sakamoto saying to the assistant, "Chipper as always, our Jinnai-kun."

Her reply is muffled when the door swings shut behind him.

The elevator takes its sweet time coming. Sho examines his own reflection in the polished metal, straightening his shirt collar, smoothing away a wrinkle. Okamura won't care, but Sho's always felt better when he at least looks the part.

He's felt off-kilter all day, ever since Kenta's alarm had also woken him up at six. By 6:30, he gave up on sleep, got up, made coffee, and was in the middle of flipping an omelette when Kenta hurried straight past the kitchen en route to the door.

Sho grabbed a mug of coffee and followed him to the entryway. "Morning."

Kenta glanced up from where he was lacing his boots. "Hey. Sorry I woke you up. You should go back to sleep."

"Have some coffee before you go. Food's almost done, too. I can pack it up or something if you want to take it with you."

Kenta looked from the coffee mug in his hands to his face. Sho doesn't know what his expression revealed, other than evidence of an inadequate night's sleep, but Kenta stood — walked over, boots and all — and kissed him.

"Thanks," Kenta whispered, "but I'm already running late. They'll have coffee on set."

Sho stood there, holding a coffee and the spatula he'd forgotten to put down, while Kenta turned away. "Have a good day."

Kenta gave him a fond look as he pulled the door closed after himself. "Go back to sleep, Sho."

But he couldn't, so he ended up drinking most of the coffee and taking the rest with him to work — not that it seemed to help. Just the opposite, Sho thinks, given that it's past lunchtime now and he still feels as jittery as when he'd first woken up.

Running errands is, at least, a step up from sitting at his desk and trying not to fidget.

Okamura isn't in his office when Sho knocks. He slides the envelope underneath the door. In his pocket, his phone buzzes.

The group text reads:

_Hey everyone. It really has been too long. For those who don't know, Daisuke is in Tokyo (welcome back, Daisuke!) so this seems like the perfect time for a ten-year reunion. How's this coming Tuesday, the 26th? Lunch, dinner, or drinks, depending on everyone's availability. Other suggestions welcome! -Your captain, Kenta_

He reads it, twice, just to make sure that he doesn't need to reply. Kenta already knows he's free; that much was discussed at the theater. Sho puts his phone back in his pocket and heads for the stairs. No point waiting for the elevator, when he can cover five flights of stairs in roughly the same amount of time.

He's barely made it to the end of the hallway before his phone buzzes again:

 _Buchou!!!!! I'm down for lunch or drinks after 9_  
_Or drinks before lunch_  
_Either works_

Sho looks up at the sound of footsteps. A second later, Shoutarou appears from around the corner, head bent over his phone as he taps furiously at the keypad. The look of intense concentration on his face is completely incongruous with the five exclamation points in the group text.

"Shoutarou."

Shoutarou's head flies up. His expression goes from intent to grinning in half a millisecond flat.

"Hey! I was just about to text you."

"Yeah. Speaking of which." Sho's phone has stopped buzzing, so whatever epic Shoutarou had been composing just now, he hasn't sent it. Yet. "Not to be a buzzkill or anything, but I think most of us have to work during the day."

"Well, yeah." Shoutarou glances at his phone again. "With one notable exception."

"I meant drinking before lunch. Seriously?"

"Oh, chill, would you? It was a joke."

"I know that," Sho says, as mild as possible, "but there are other people who might misunderstand. That's all I'm saying."

Shoutarou looks straight at him for a second; his eyes narrow slightly.

"Are you _managing_ me?"

"I'm not your manager." Sho waits half second for Shoutarou's expression to clear slightly. "But I am your friend and coworker, and as such."

Shoutarou stares at him; Sho holds his gaze. They've always been bad at maintaining professional distance, maybe, but Shoutarou has long since been old enough to know better. And if Sho had any part in Shoutarou turning out the way he has, well — he should have an equal part in correcting that error.

Shoutarou's expression morphs into smug irreverence again. "Wow," he laughs, "you are taking the employee code of conduct _way_ too seriously. I mean, the number of times I've caught Mitsuya—"

"We're right around the corner from the executive offices," Sho reminds him. "You really want to have this conversation here?"

"Fine." Shoutarou turns on his heel. "Walk me to lunch, then."

"I should get back to work." Sho follows him to the elevators.

"Aw, c'mon. Take like a fifteen minute break." Shoutarou calls the elevator. "It'll just be me and Shion. Like old times."

"Thanks, but I'll pass on the nostalgia trip."

"Yeah, well, the nostalgia trip's coming for you on Tuesday whether you like it or not." Shoutarou slouches against the wall, eyes on Sho.

The elevator is still stuck on the tenth floor, according to the numbered light above the doors. Sho considers going back to his original plan of braving the stairs.

"You're not just gonna pretend like it didn't happen, are you?" Shoutarou asks.

"I do actually have work to do, you know."

"I'm just saying," Shoutarou continues, like he can't even hear Sho, "given your history, bottling up and hoping it doesn't all blow up in your face is _probably_ not the way to go. I hope you've talked to Kenta, at least."

The elevator arrives. Shoutarou steps inside and holds the door.

"Anyway," Shoutarou says, "come have lunch. Shion's paying."

Sho glances back down the hall. "I should check if Okamura-san's back."

"Really?"

"I told you—"

"I won't make you talk about Daisuke if you don't want to, but that's no reason—"

"Shoutarou."

"What?"

"It's none of your business." Sho holds his gaze long enough to make sure that Shoutarou understands this conversation is over. "Say hi to Shion for me."

Shoutarou releases the _hold elevator_ button finally. "Yeah. See you Tuesday, I guess."

The doors close.

Sho lets out a long breath. He turns back for the stairs. It's not that he doesn't want to talk, he imagines telling Shoutarou; rather, it's that there's nothing worth talking about.

Just because Daisuke is back doesn't mean that he's going to stay.

 

* * *

 

The words on the page are starting to blur together. He takes off his glasses and closes his eyes for a second, and wakes up to a gentle hand on his shoulder.

For a second, Sho can't remember where he is. It's not the first time he's fallen asleep in the middle of doing something, talking to someone, lying on the couch or even on the floor. The déjà vu is strong enough to disorient him all over again.

Everything looks fuzzy around the edges. He reaches for his glasses — someone places them into his palm.

"Hey," Kenta says quietly. "You didn't have to stay up."

Sho blinks at him. Puts his glasses aside and takes Kenta's hand instead. "When'd you get back?"

"Just now." The sofa dips; Kenta tucks his feet under himself, curled beside him. He sighs. "The after-talk ran super late, and my phone died."

"Have you eaten?" Sho asks, then remembers. "There's food on the stove. I cooked — I don't know, around nine, maybe. Forgot to put it away."

"Don't worry about it." Kenta presses a kiss to his cheek; Sho can feel him smiling, tired and warm. "You should go to bed."

"I'm awake."

"You fell asleep on the sofa."

"Your fault for not getting more uncomfortable furniture."

Kenta rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling when he gets up and heads to the kitchen. Sho puts on his glasses and follows. On the table, Kenta's phone starts buzzing with missed messages as it recharges.

"I really hope those aren't all from Shoutarou," Kenta says, as he takes out tupperware for the leftover curry.

Sho hands him a serving spoon. "Seiya, too."

"Seiya actually responded?"

"Yeah, after Shoutarou called him out. Or maybe actually called him. Unclear."

Kenta blinks. "Huh. I didn't know they were still close."

"Who knows why Shoutarou does anything."

"Who indeed." Kenta puts the curry in the fridge and the empty pot in the sink. He goes to check on his phone. "Did Yutaka ever respond?"

"Yeah, a couple hours ago." Sho turns on the faucet. "So that's everyone."

He washes the dishes while Kenta goes through his missed messages. He listens to Kenta snort at the approximately fifty messages' worth of banter that had commenced when Seiya responded to Shoutarou's, _oy Konishi just fyi you're not allowed to bring a +1, we've already maxed out on couples for this reunion_.

Sho dries his hands, as Kenta says, "Amazing. I just read eighty-seven messages, and yet we're no closer to deciding a time and place."

"Tuesday, right? Anytime works."

"Lunch would cut into your work hours." Kenta glances at him as Sho wanders over to read what he's typing. "Though you could use some time off."

"I'll figure something out. It's fine," Sho adds, before Kenta can protest. "Just pick somewhere close to the office, maybe."

"All right."

Kenta doesn't move away when Sho's arms loop around him. He doesn't look away from his phone, either, when Sho hooks his chin over his shoulder and watches him type out,

_How about lunch at Veranda, 1pm?_

Sho murmurs into his ear, "Sounds good to me."

Kenta puts down his phone. "Couldn't help noticing that you never responded."

"I think everyone knows you're speaking for both of us."

"Just saying."

"What?"

Kenta turns in his arms; palms warm, pressed lightly to Sho's chest. "We didn't get a chance to talk, before I sent out that text. I just wanted to check if — you know."

There are a million ways to end that sentence, maybe, and not a single one of them matters. Not in the way that Kenta's looking at him, a bit anxious and much too cautious, as if any of this is even worth mentioning next to the fact that he's here, right now.

"Just wanted to check," Kenta says, "if you're okay. With all this."

"It's fine," Sho tells him. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Kenta looks vaguely puzzled, for a split second, before Sho decides to hell with it and kisses him. Because it's been a long day. And because he wants to.

Later, Kenta tells him, "Tera called."

His voice is quiet but not sleepy. Not yet. Sho wonders how he manages that — then again, Kenta actually values keeping some semblance of a sleep schedule, despite work and despite everything else.

"When?"

"Before my phone died." Kenta shifts, maybe shrugs; Sho can't summon the energy to open his eyes and check. "He's heading to China tomorrow, but when he gets back, he wants to take us to dinner. Whenever you're free."

"He could just call me. Did he lose my number?"

"You never return his calls," Kenta points out, which. Fair enough. "He knows you've been busy — said he doesn't want to bother you in the middle of a meeting or something."

"I turn off my phone for meetings. I'm a great employee."

"Right. So he called me." A pause. "Kensho and the rest of them will be in town, too. Tera said whenever's best for us. I told him not to make a big deal of it, but — well. I said I'd ask."

"Maybe. I don't know what my schedule looks like yet. You should go, though."

"I think he wants both of us there."

Sho opens his eyes. Not that he can see anything in the dark. The bed is a bit too warm, even with the sheets lumped at their feet and the air conditioning humming in the background.

It's been years, probably, since this particular friends group managed to get together for anything not work related. Not surprising, given their respective schedules. Though lately, it's mostly been because of Sho. Tera still tries, for birthdays and the odd occasion, but the last time Sho had actually seen him must've been—

"Damn." Sho can't believe it took him this long. "Did Terayama Takeshi just beat me to making plans for our six-month anniversary?"

Kenta shifts again. "It's not a real anniversary."

"It's something, though." In the dark, Sho turns to him. It's too difficult to make out Kenta's expression; Sho touches his cheek instead, brushes his thumb over the soft line of Kenta's mouth. "June 10th, right?"

"You're the one with a calendrical memory."

"Yeah, and you're the one who's dating me."

"Shut up." Kenta smiles against his palm. "Anyway, I'll be in Osaka until the eleventh — add that to your mental calendar."

"Already did. How about that weekend?"

"Some radio things, but nothing too bad."

"All right. I'll let Tera know."

"It's still not a real anniversary."

"Yeah, I know." It's too warm, but Kenta doesn't complain when Sho draws him closer. "January's the one that counts."

"It all counts," Kenta says, almost too quiet to hear.

And yeah, Sho thinks — it does, all of it. These six months, and the ten years they've known each other. Ten years that Kenta's been by his side, seen him at his worst and never once blamed him, even when he deserved it, and stayed even when Sho didn't deserve it.

There are things that make you want an ever-after, and then there are the things — the people — that make you actually believe in permanence.

Tera's cheerful persistence is another one of those things, probably.

Sho makes a note to call him in the morning.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe you _tweeted_ to tell us you lost your phone. I also can't believe — you know, I think that's the first time I've heard someone actually utter the words 'new phone, who dis' out loud? Who the hell are you even?"

"Your best friend, obviously!" Tera's happiness is contagious or something; Sho catches himself smiling. "So, that's a yes? I can tell the rest of the gang?"

"Yeah." Sho takes a sip of coffee and checks the time; he should head back into the office soon, but there are still a couple more minutes left in his lunch break. "Though, Kenta says it's not a real anniversary, so I don't know what you're telling them."

"That we're all meeting up! You don't need an occasion to see your friends, you know."

And maybe that's true, Sho thinks, but even truth doesn't always work in reality. There's no accusation in Tera's voice, though.

"I'll text everyone," Tera continues happily. "This is gonna be great. It's been so long."

"Sure you don't want to tweet them instead?"

"If you get Twitter again, I will."

"I'm retired."

"Doesn't mean you can't be up to date on social media. Seriously, how do you get your news? Or _gossip_?"

"I've got you. What are nosy friends for, huh?"

"Damn straight. Speaking of gossip, though. I heard from, well, _sources_ that—"

"You mean you heard from Shunri who heard it from Kimeru who heard it from whatever network of spies he has—"

"Oy," Tera laughs. "Watch your mouth, Jinnai Sho. Kime-sama is Kime-sama. But no, this one's not that convoluted." There's a slight pause, and Sho has a split second to wonder if this is going where he thinks it's going before Tera says all in a rush, "Onoken heard from his girlfriend who heard from her kouhai that Kikuchi was really surprised to see an old friend who'd retired years ago but showed up last Thursday to see the show—"

"That's still pretty convoluted," Sho says, cutting him off. "And yeah, I know. I ran into Daisuke backstage. Kenta and I were there for Shoutarou."

He can practically hear Tera blinking. "Oh." More audible blinking. "Huh. Kensho didn't mention that part."

"Shocking. Considering he heard it, what, fourth or fifth-hand? You need more reliable sources."

"My sources are excellent, excuse you."

"You could've just asked."

"Yeah, well." He can hear Tera shrugging, this time. "I mean, how's he doing? I don't think anyone's heard from him since, what, five years ago?"

"Pretty much." Sho tosses his empty coffee cup. "We're all meeting up for lunch tomorrow — Yutaka and Seiya, too. Konishi Seiya, I mean. Anyway, it's more or less the right time for a ten-year reunion, so we're doing that."

"It's really been ten years, huh." Tera sounds wistful. "Damn."

"Yeah." Sho checks his watch and starts to head back up the block toward the office building. "Where's my ten-year friendiversary gift, huh, Terayama?"

"Right here, Sho-chan," Tera says, not missing a beat. "I've been carrying it with me all this time. Even to China. Here, listen." There's a shuffling, buzzing sound like the mic's been pressed against cloth. Sho looks at his own phone, wondering if the call dropped — but no. When he returns the phone to his ear, Tera is saying, "You hear that?"

"You're giving me a swarm of bees?"

"I'm giving you my love!" Tera is about a second away from laughing, Sho can tell. "That was the sound of my heart! You need your ears checked."

"You need your head checked."

"Shut the hell up," Tera says, laughing. "Anyway, I need to head over to the theater. I'll text Jou and the rest of them. Tell Kenta for me, yeah?"

"Will do."

"Happy friendiversary to the both of you, too!"

Sho smiles at his phone as the call ends. He checks the time — ten 'til one, enough time to get back to his desk if he doesn't wait for the elevator — and an alert pops up to remind him, _Tomorrow: Seiru Reunion, 1:00 PM_.

Ten years is a damn long time. Compared to that, really, what's an hour or so? They'll get lunch, they'll listen to Shoutarou tell tall tales just this side of truth, and then they'll go back to the lives they have now.

He puts his phone away. Simple, really.

 

* * *

 

 _Take the afternoon off!!!_  
_It's an Occasion_  
_Surely Touya-san can let you go for an occasion I mean how often are you gonna get a 10 year reunion like this anyway_

Once every ten years, is the answer, but Shoutarou probably wouldn't appreciate it. It's probably not even what Shoutarou meant, knowing him.

The time stamp on the texts reads 12:21 AM. Sho had thought that maybe a good response would come to him in the morning, after he'd slept; it's almost noon, on Tuesday, and he's still got nothing.

At any rate, it's too late to ask for time off now.

He starts to type, _I'll see you there at 1_ — and a voice says, "Jinnai-kun?"

Sho nearly drops his phone; everyone else had left for a lunch meeting, or so he'd thought. He can't quite mask the sheepish look that he knows must be on his face, getting caught texting when he should have been working, but when he looks up, the admin assistant is giving him an indulgent smile.

"I didn't mean to startle you," she says. "I came back to grab something for Sakamoto. And Touya-san asked me to check in and, well — I figured you were still here."

"Of course." Why wouldn't he be? "What do you need, Fujiwara-san?"

"Oh, no, not that. Touya-san thought he might have forgotten to email you, or maybe it got lost — he's been having email issues — so he asked me to check in and make sure you were all set for this afternoon."

Sho blinks. Runs through his mental calendar. Draws a complete blank. Did he forget about a meeting? Was he supposed to turn in something?

"That is to say," Fujiwara adds, noticing his obvious confusion, "Sakamoto can take care of anything while you're out. You're meeting Ohkubo-kun and other friends for a reunion, right?"

Sho's racing thoughts grind to a halt. "Yes," he blurts before he can stop himself. "But it's not — I mean, it won't take too long. I'll be back before the meeting later, so there's no need—"

"Don't worry about it. Touya-san said you should take the rest of the day off. You've earned it. We all know how hard you work." Fujiwara smiles at him. "A ten-year reunion doesn't happen everyday, as Ohkubo-kun pointed out. Touya-san agrees."

"Shou— Ohkubo-kun said that?"

"He came by earlier," Fujiwara confirms. She gathers up papers from Sakamoto's desk, shuffling them into a neat stack. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you knew. Have fun." She tucks the papers into a binder. "Oh, and take some pictures if you get a chance. Ohkubo-kun hasn't updated his blog in a while."

"Of course." That, at least, makes sense.

Though it makes less sense, when he remembers who'll be at the reunion. But by the time that thought coalesces, Fujiwara has already closed the binder and walked out of the office.

Sho looks from the door back to his desk. His phone is still sitting atop a pile of folders he'd been sorting through; it's not urgent, but Sakamoto will definitely hate him for dumping this busywork on him — but on the other hand, he's basically been ordered by his boss to take time off. And go to this reunion.

Because Shoutarou had asked. Gone right over Sho's head, against his wishes — the way he's done before — implicit though his wishes may have been, but still. Shoutarou isn't fifteen anymore. And they might never have a truly professional relationship, but there is still a _line_.

Sho puts down his phone before he does something stupid like call Shoutarou. Or Shoutarou's manager, even. Because there _is_ a line.

He goes back to his texts, types, _Yeah see you soon_ , and hits send. It's five past noon. He sorts the folders into two piles, leaves a sticky note on each — filed, and to be filed — and leaves them on his desk.

He takes his laptop with him, because he would do that anyway, mandatory afternoon off or no. There's a coffee shop near the place they're meeting. It's ten past noon.

It feels weird, walking out of the office in broad daylight.

At the coffee shop, he gets stuck behind a group of college kids who can't seem to decide what they want and whether any of them are splitting whatever they're ordering. There are plenty of free tables, at least. Sho checks his phone. He still has over half an hour.

The indecisive gaggle place their drink orders and move off to wait somewhere less obtrusive. Sho finally gets a clear view of the counter, takes a half-step forward — stops.

There, by the pick-up area, waiting for his coffee, is Daisuke.

And just like on Thursday, backstage, his mind goes blank. For a second, he can't even remember his usual order. He considers leaving. Daisuke hasn't seen him yet — too busy trying to get out of the way of the college kids, though surely he's been waiting longer than they have — but then the barista says,

"Welcome to Green Bean Coffee. What can I get for you?"

Sho glances at the menu. "Americano," he says, because that's the first thing he sees. "Iced. Thanks."

By the time he pays, takes his receipt and moves away from the register, Daisuke has noticed him. Looking straight at him, even. Standing very still, as if afraid of — what?

There was a time, once, when Daisuke's whole face would've lit up to see him, running into him here, by chance or by design.

Now Daisuke says, "Hi." Pauses, as if unsure of how to address him — then skips it altogether for, "It's good to see you."

"Same." Which might even be true. "How've you been?"

"Good. I mean. I had kind of an interesting weekend."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Daisuke smiles at a remembered something. "It was — weird, I guess. Not in a bad way or anything. Mostly just being back in Tokyo. But I met up with Yutaka and—"

"Say no more," Sho deadpans. "Weirdness totally explained."

Daisuke blinks. For a split second, Sho thinks _shit_ that wasn't even funny, Daisuke and Yutaka were always close, even when everything and everyone else fell apart — and then Daisuke laughs.

"True. Not what I meant, but totally fair. I mean, it'd be weirder if Yutaka weren't, well. So _Yutaka_."

"Peak KY-san, huh?"

"Yup," Daisuke agrees, voice colored with such fondness, like he hasn't heard in years. Because there might also have been a time when it would've been for him.

Sho can't think about that right now.

"Anyway, yeah," Daisuke says. "I hung out with Tomoru, too — you remember Tomoru? From Tenimyu?"

"Of course. Hard to forget someone like Akazawa Tomoru."

"I'll let him know you said that." Daisuke smiles at him, and Sho gets the distinct feeling that he's done nothing to deserve anything of the sort. Especially when Daisuke says, "It's nice, really. I'm glad I came back to see them — to see everyone."

And Sho knows they've now veered off course, into a different conversation that maybe he doesn't really want to have, here, in the middle of a busy coffee shop.

Thankfully, Daisuke's phone goes off just then. He jumps at the sound. "Ah, sorry—"

"No, go ahead," Sho starts to say, when his own phone pings as well. He glances down automatically, half-expecting a work emergency. He should've known better, really, because when has his luck ever run that way?

There's a new message in the group chat, from Yutaka.

_I'm so sorry everyone but there's been a major macaroon mishap on set and I might not be able to make lunch, or at least will be very late. How long will you all be there??_

"What the hell's a macaroon mishap?" Sho mutters, at the same time Daisuke wonders aloud, "What's a macaroon?"

When he glances up, Daisuke is smiling at him again. Slightly sheepish, slightly surprised, but a real smile nonetheless. This one, he can almost understand. Daisuke says, "Peak Yutaka, huh?"

"Only Yutaka, really."

Daisuke looks back at his phone. "I wonder what happened. I mean, knowing him—"

He never gets to finish the rest of that sentence; the barista places half a dozen coffee cups on the counter — "Order 129, ready for pick up!" — and the entire horde of college kids move toward the counter. Daisuke is still looking at his phone, unaware.

Sho reaches for Daisuke's arm and tugs him out of the way.

He has less than a split second to realize that maybe he shouldn't have done that — it's been years, and there is such a thing as personal space — but Daisuke moves with him when he steps back. Easy as anything.

Sho drops his hand. His palms feel cold. Strange, really; Daisuke was always the one who clung to other people for warmth.

His phone pings again; Daisuke's, too. It's Seiya this time:

_My train's also delayed.....  
Be back around 4pm, any chance we could reschedule?_

Sho runs through his mental calendar; Shoutarou won't be free until after the evening performance, around the same time as Kenta. On the other hand, he just took the afternoon off for no good reason. The laptop is heavy in his bag. Maybe he'll head back to the office.

Daisuke is staring at his phone with a crestfallen expression. It disappears into a faint smile as soon as he notices Sho looking at him.

"Everyone's got a lot going on, huh?"

"Yeah. Like herding cats, trying to arrange a meet-up with more than three people."

Daisuke makes an absentminded sound — "I like cats, though" — and looks down at his phone as a slew of new messages come in, almost too quick to follow.

 **Shoutarou:**  
_Are you bailing on me Konishi??_  
_Get yr ass back here_  
_I'm onto u!!_

 **Kenta:**  
_Is everyone free this evening? After 9?_

 **Seiya:**  
_Yes Ohkubo, I personally manipulated the train schedule just to mess with you_  
_You got me_

 **Yutaka:**  
_I can do 9pm!_

 **Kenta:**  
_There's a good bar next to the theater. Easier for Shoutarou to meet us._

 **Shoutarou:**  
_I'll be there_  
_Will physically drag Bailnishi with me if I have to don't worry_

 **Seiya:**  
_Works for me_  
_Wait what_

"Guess we're doing that, then," Daisuke says to himself, typing something on his phone. A thought occurs to him. "Wait — are you also free later tonight?"

It takes Sho a second to realize why that question sounds strange; nobody else would've bothered to ask him. He says, "Yeah. Kenta knows my schedule."

There's a pause.

"Oh," says Daisuke. "Right." He looks back down at his phone. "Right. Okay."

Sho goes to look for the barista while Daisuke sends whatever text he'd been about to send. How long does it take to get a coffee around here?

The barista catches his eye just before he's about to ask about his order. She gives him a slightly frazzled smile, gestures toward — two cups already sitting on the counter. He doesn't remember when that happened. He takes his Americano; the ice has started to melt, the plastic cup dripping with condensation that makes his palms feel even clammier.

The other drink must be Daisuke's. Nobody else has claimed it. He picks up that cup as well. At least it's still hot.

Daisuke jumps when Sho hands him his coffee.

"That's yours, right?"

"Yes," Daisuke says, then checks the writing on the cup, which seems like a nonsequential way of doing things. But he nods. "Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." It's not like he paid for it. Sho checks the time on his phone. There are more messages in the group chat, which he doesn't bother reading; if it was important, Kenta would've called him.

 _Well, see you later,_ he imagines saying. _I should head back to the office. Nice running into you._

It sounds pretty normal. He takes a sip of his coffee, getting ready to deliver the line — and Daisuke looks straight at him and says,

"So, I don't know what your plans are — I mean, I don't know if you have to go back to work, and we're all meeting later anyway, but — I'd like to spend some time with you. If you want. Just to catch up."

He's holding a hot drink with both hands, even though it's the middle of summer, fiddling with the cardboard cup warmer. Some things don't change, Sho thinks. And there's nothing wrong with that, he supposes, but it doesn't mean things can't get better.

It's been years. They're both adults. There's no reason he shouldn't say,

"I need to head back to the office in a bit. But I have some time."

And there's no reason for Daisuke to look that surprised, either, but he smiles easily enough. "Okay. Great."

Sho nods toward the door. "I can walk you to wherever you're going."

"Okay," Daisuke says again, following him outside. "I mean, I wasn't really going anywhere. I was just."

"You just what?"

Daisuke looks sheepish. "I was scoping out the area, before we all met up." His tone turns a tad defensive. "I've only been back a couple days."

"Well, good news is, you can't lose a sense of direction you never had."

"I resent that." Daisuke sounds more relieved than offended. Sho would've preferred if he sounded amused, but one thing at a time.

"What've you been up to, apart from Yutaka and Akazawa?"

"This and that. I didn't really have any set plans. I mean." Daisuke fiddles with a loose strand of hair. "I ran into Utsumi — you remember him?"

"The name sounds familiar."

"He knows, um, what's his name... Taito? Hashimoto Taito, I think?"

"Ah." Sho has a vague recollection of a babyfaced kid who never seemed to befriend anyone who didn't take dance seriously. Though, that was then; Utsumi probably isn't a kid anymore. "Yeah. I didn't know you were close."

Daisuke takes a sip of coffee and makes a comical face. "We're not. Well, we weren't — but I ran into him the other day, and he's really changed a lot. Maybe we both have. At any rate, he's with this dance studio in Shibuya and — well." Daisuke fidgets a second longer. "I asked if I could practice with them, just to see how it goes."

It takes Sho a second to process that.

The first thought that pops into his head is, _Shoutarou's gonna flip when he hears._ The second is, _Maybe I do need to talk to Kenta._ Neither is particularly comforting, as far as what it says about him.

"Sounds exciting," he manages before the silence goes too long. "How's it going so far?"

"It's only been a couple days." Daisuke is smiling, though. "But it's good, yeah. It's — I really missed it. Everyone there's really supportive. Even Utsumi was surprised at how much I've already picked up. I think he was kind of weirded out, but at least he wasn't annoyed or anything. He used to get really pissed every time I copied his dance moves or whatever, even if it was just for fun."

That's probably why Utsumi got annoyed, Sho thinks. "You always made it look effortless."

"But I work hard!"

"No, I know. That's what I'm saying — it shouldn't be surprising that people get jealous. You've always been good at what you do. Not just talent, but also effort."

There's a pause. Daisuke looks away; Sho wonders if he said too much, if it came off as insincere.

But Daisuke says, "Thanks." He sounds happy, at least. "I appreciate that. Especially from you."

 _I'm not a dancer,_ Sho almost says. That's probably not what Daisuke meant.

"So what about you?" Daisuke asks, looking back at him. "How's everything going, with — I heard you're working in management now?"

"Production office. It's mostly paperwork, at my level. But it goes."

"You like it, though? You're happy?"

Sho opens his mouth to say — he doesn't know what, because he doesn't have a stock response for that. Strange. Come to think of it, no one's actually ever asked him outright, _Are you happy?_

Most people were shocked, when he first made his decision. He has answers for questions like, _But I thought you wanted to do movies? I thought you were getting there. Why the sudden change?_

Or questions like, _Did something happen? Is there anything I should know?_

Or even, _What the hell were you thinking?_

The last, mostly from Shoutarou, and the answer to that was easy: _I was thinking that I needed to make some changes._

And he did, is the thing: he'd felt stuck, the last couple of years, professionally and personally. It wasn't so much he didn't know where he was going as he wasn't even sure where he _was_ anymore. The familiarity of that feeling was what got to him, in the end. He'd needed a clean break.

But as for where that leaves him, now...

"I'm figuring it out," Sho says, because that's the truth. "It's a process."

They walk in silence for a bit. Sho wonders what Daisuke will make of it, wonders what he'll say. _I hope you find what you're looking for soon_. That seems generic enough. He drinks his coffee.

Daisuke says, "Everyone has their own process, right?"

When he looks over, Daisuke is giving him a faint smile. It's not one he remembers from before. For a second, he thinks about asking, _What happened, after you left Tokyo?_

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. He ignores it at first, but the buzzing doesn't stop, like it's been doing periodically, ever since they started walking. He fishes it out and sees the incoming call: _Shoutarou_.

He weighs the odds of it being a pocket dial versus the odds that it's actually work related, for once.

Daisuke says, "If you need to take that—"

"Yeah. Sorry." Sho turns aside and answers the call. "Hello?"

"I texted you like ten times," Shoutarou says with no preamble. "Where'd you go? The office was completely empty and when I asked him, Sakamoto gave me this _look_ like I'd insulted his girlfriend or whatever—"

"I was on my lunch break." Sho frowns as he runs through that again. "You came by my office? Did something happen?"

"No," Shoutarou says slowly, drawing out the syllable, "except you almost never take a lunch break, so I should be asking _you_ that."

"We were meeting for lunch."

"Yeah, well, not anymore."

"I know."

"Which is why you should have lunch with me."

"Which is why I need to get back to work."

"Which is why you're still wandering around outside?"

Sho looks around sharply; they're still a couple blocks from the office, and there aren't that many people around. "Are you _following_ me?"

"It's called the FriendFinder app, grandpa. It's only been a thing since like, 2012. Keep up. Anyway, I see you—"

He turns his head and Shoutarou is there, coming around the corner, arm lifted to wave at him. Daisuke is standing just a couple steps away, holding a coffee and waiting for him to wrap up a supposedly work-related call. Sho still has the phone to his ear, which is how he hears the sudden silence, and then the muttered, "Wow, seriously?"

"Shoutarou—"

The line goes dead. No point, as Shoutarou walks right up to them and announces, "Fancy running into you guys here!"

Daisuke looks up, startled. Shoutarou is grinning at him, and Sho doesn't think it's just his imagination that the expression makes Daisuke even more uncomfortable. It's the same as Thursday. Sho really isn't interested in re-enacting any other moments from that goddamn evening.

Daisuke manages a smile. "Hey, Shoutarou."

"I was on my way back to the office," Sho says. "You heading there, too?"

Shoutarou looks at him, then looks back at Daisuke. "Actually, I was heading out for lunch. Have you eaten yet? There's a great soba place nearby—"

"Don't I owe you lunch?"

Both Daisuke and Shoutarou stare at him. Rather, Daisuke stares at the both of them — probably because of the way Shoutarou is staring at Sho as if he's grown a second head.

"What?"

Sho shrugs, hefting his laptop bag. "Touya-san gave me the afternoon off. My lucky day, I guess." And there — a flash of guilt in Shoutarou's eyes; he _does_ know where the line is. "Come on. My treat."

Shoutarou's brow furrows.

Daisuke recovers first. With an apologetic expression, he says, "Well, I should get going. I need to run a few errands before we meet up. I'll see you guys later, yeah?"

"All right." Sho waves him off. "See you at nine. Don't forget."

Daisuke gives him a fleeting smile. "Wouldn't miss it."

Sho watches him go; he can feel Shoutarou's eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He takes one last sip of an iced americano he really didn't want, and tosses the plastic cup into a nearby trash can.

He glances at Shoutarou. "You feel like soba?"

"What are you playing at?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't owe me lunch."

"I don't?" Sho checks his phone and starts walking in the direction of the restaurant. "Huh. You probably owe me, then. Great. You're paying."

Shoutarou hurries to catch up to him. "You're being super weird. Why are you being super weird?"

"I happen to be very normal and respectable."

"Sure, and I'm a duck." Shoutarou grabs his arm, pulling him to a stop. "Why didn't you answer any of my texts? If I'd known you were with him, I could've—"

"Stalked me that much faster?" Speaking of which. Sho taps at his phone, searching for whatever thing's giving away his location to nosy friends.

"It's under Settings," Shoutarou says.

"What?"

"Your location, dumbass. Give me that." Shoutarou takes his phone without so much as a by-your-leave. Sho opens his mouth to protest, but before he's gotten a single word out, Shoutarou has changed the settings — and handed his phone back. "There. Now you can go on your secret assignations or whatever it is you're up to all the time."

"Good to know." Sho pockets his phone. "Though I'm pretty much spoken for, so if you're looking for a little something-something on the side—"

"I'm all set, thanks."

"Really? Because last I checked, you were still single."

He has a moment to consider, as Shoutarou rolls his eyes, that most people would've been offended by such a blatant reminder. It's strange, really, that Shoutarou is still friends with him — determined to be so, even. He can't even remember the last time he invited Shoutarou over for dinner, the way they used to do almost every other week.

Then again, he's been spending most of his time at Kenta's place.

"Seriously, though," Shoutarou says, "why didn't you text me? I could've called earlier and gotten you out of that."

"Out of what?"

"Spending time with Daisuke?" Shoutarou gives him a look like _he's_ the one not making sense here. "You're still such a pushover, I swear to god."

"I ran into him at the coffee shop," Sho says, keeping a tight reign on his irritation. "We were heading in the same direction, so we did that. Why are _you_ being so weird about it, huh?"

"Because you're doing the whole idiot act again? Sho, I'm serious. I know it's been years, but you're obviously—" Shoutarou checks himself, which is good, because otherwise Sho might've had to do that for him. "I'm just saying, all right? He's hurt you before."

Understatement, probably.

Also, not something he particularly wants to discuss standing on a street right around the corner from his place of work. Even if Shoutarou is giving him a look that's more concerned than judgmental. Somehow, that makes it worse.

"It was a long time ago," Sho says quietly. "People change."

Shoutarou snorts. "Yeah, no. Someone _that_ terrible is pretty much always gonna be terrible — I mean, that's just basic character. I doubt even a five-year journey of self-discovery or whatever it was he's been doing this whole time—"

"Shoutarou."

"What? It's true!"

It's not. Except Sho doesn't really have any evidence with which to back it up — just a feeling, unshakeable as proof, that Daisuke has changed for the better. Because, in all the ways that matter, he hasn't changed one bit from the person Sho met ten years ago.

Shoutarou doesn't believe in forgiveness. And Sho didn't either, but that's the thing — he _didn't_. Now, he's not so sure.

What he does know is that he's over it, while Shoutarou obviously isn't, for whatever reason. Sometimes, looking at Shoutarou feels uncomfortably like looking at a mirror version of his past self.

But everyone has their own process. Probably.

"It doesn't matter," Sho says finally. He checks the time again. "Anyway, do you actually want lunch? Because otherwise I really should head back to the office. Don't you need to be at the theater soon?"

"What— No! Not until four." Shoutarou's voice goes from startled to accusatory in half a millisecond flat. "Anyway, Touya-san gave you the afternoon off. Least you could do is treat me to lunch."

"You're shameless, you know that?"

"Yeah. But life's more fun this way."

Shoutarou grins at him while Sho rolls his eyes. There's no arguing with the kid when he's like this, as anyone who's known him for any amount of time knows; somehow, some way — by virtue or by virtue of sheer stubbornness — Shoutarou always finds a way to win. Or, at least, make sure that his opponent doesn't.

It's not a good habit, and Sho should care more, probably. But for now, he follows Shoutarou to the soba place and buys him lunch and listens to him tell stories about how Kikuchi Takuya was so distracted all of yesterday the director nearly gave up on getting through a clean dress rehearsal.

Apparently, Kikuchi and Shison are meeting up. For coffee. _As people who are adults — and friends — adult friends — sometimes do,_ Shoutarou says in a perfect imitation of Shison's huffy voice. Sho snorts in spite of himself.

Everyone's much too invested in everyone else's potential love life, which is par for course, he supposes. It's show biz, and anyway, it's all in the past now. He doesn't miss this part. Not quite as much.

 

* * *

 

"Okay," Kenta says, after so long a pause that Sho was starting to wonder if the call had dropped. "Well. I'll see you in a bit. I'm meeting Shoutarou at the theater now, so we'll grab a table or something."

And that's got nothing to do with anything Sho just said.

"Are you upset with me?" he asks. The office is empty, this late at night, and he's just turned off his laptop. The lid is still warm when he puts his hand on it. "I would've called earlier, but I thought you'd be in the middle of rehearsal, so — I just wanted to tell you before we all met up."

"It's fine. I'm not upset. I'm just saying." Either Kenta sighs or a gust of wind sends static down the line. "I'd rather not have this conversation over the phone, is all."

"It's not a big deal."

"You're making it a big deal."

"I'd rather you found out from me than from Shoutarou." He checks that his filing cabinet is locked, everything is where it should be. "You know he doesn't exactly have an objective outlook when it comes to Daisuke, and—"

"And you do?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Can we talk about this at home?"

"I seriously don't want you to be mad at me."

"Sho, I'm _not_. Will you get the hell over yourself?"

He knows that tone. Kenta's not angry with him — even if some part of Sho insists that he should be, and he can't say why, just that he feels guilty for getting coffee and running interference with Shoutarou and then going back to work and not calling Kenta until now, fifteen minutes before they're all supposed to be meeting for drinks.

"Right. Sorry." His own voice sounds even softer, in the silence of an empty office; maybe it's what gives him the courage to say, out loud, over the phone, "I love you, you know."

"I know," says Kenta, just as soft, just as familiar. "And I'm not going to get mad at you for getting coffee or running into Daisuke or whatever — because I know. All right?" A pause. Then, "I love you, too."

And he knows that tone, as well, because he's heard it before. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

A faint voice from Kenta's end says,

"God, you two are so married, it's gross."

He can hear the way Kenta jumps, whips around. "Shoutarou. Hey. I didn't—"

"Oh, don't worry. I wasn't eavesdropping. Tell him I said hi."

"Shoutarou says hi," Kenta repeats dutifully into the phone.

"He can say that to my face soon enough." Sho picks up his bag. "Anyway, I'm heading over now. I'll see you in a bit."

"All right. We'll be there."

He catches a snatch of conversation — _That was Sho, right? I mean, I understand if you'd rather have someone less high maintenance, or just a little something on the side_ — before the call cuts. Sho rolls his eyes to himself. He finds himself smiling, though, as he turns off the lights and locks the office after himself.

Ten years, he thinks to himself. It might not be much, compared to how close they all once were, but it's not nothing, either.

His phone buzzes; a new message in the group chat, from Kenta:

_Shoutarou and I are at the bar, near the back. We got a table. See you all soon!_


	5. Five

_Shoutarou and I are at the bar, near the back. We got a table. See you all soon!_

Daisuke reads the text again. Checks the time again. Tabs back to his conversation with Yutaka, and the last message still reads, 

_Yeah Seiya's with me. On my way but running a bit behind schedule._

It's already five past the hour. One of the kitchen staff who'd come out for a smoke ten minutes ago is eyeing him, as he stays standing there, fiddling with his phone. 

Nothing for it.

He heads into the bar. 

The place is doing good business, but it's late enough on a weeknight that it's not too crowded. Which is good. Daisuke spots the table in the back almost immediately, a split second before Shoutarou spots him.

Shoutarou nudges Kenta, who's in the middle of saying something to Sho — who has his arm around Kenta's shoulder, as if this is perfectly normal. Which, Daisuke supposes, it could be. Sho doesn't have to worry about managers or tabloids snooping into his personal life, now. 

Kenta looks up. Sho looks up as well. Shoutarou grins and waves him over. "Our guest of honor has arrived!"

"I'm nothing of the sort," Daisuke says, while Kenta makes a weird shrugging motion that ends with Sho retracting his arm. "Hey. Thanks for organizing this."

"No problem." Kenta gives him a warm smile, and Daisuke realizes abruptly that the opposite side of the table is completely empty. 

For a second, he considers sitting in the middle, across from Kenta, which at least seems neutral territory. Then Sho pushes at the seat across from him with his foot. Nods for him to sit.

Daisuke sits.

He wracks his brain for something to say. "Oh, um — Yutaka said he'll be here soon. Seiya's with him."

Shoutarou snorts. "So _that's_ why he's not returning my texts. What a flake, I swear to god, every time he meets someone new—"

"I think he's always liked Yutaka more than you," Sho points out.

"That is such a lie!"

"Ask him yourself." Sho nods toward the entrance. "They're here."

Daisuke turns around, and sure enough, there's Yutaka — wearing a smile bright enough to distract from the glittering pins fastened to his vest — with Seiya, trailing half a step behind.

Shoutarou bounds out of his chair with a gleeful, "Konitan!"

Seiya freezes. "Uh. Hi?"

"Our special little Koniflake!"

"What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_? C'mere, Konibear!"

Shoutarou makes for him with outstretched arms. Seiya actually ducks behind Yutaka — who laughs. "Can I accept the hug on his behalf?" 

There's a pause — and Daisuke remembers what Yutaka had told him, that he and Shoutarou hadn't spoken in months — but Shoutarou just says, "Glad to see you haven't changed, KY-san." And hugs him.

Yutaka smiles. "You too, Shoutarou."

Kenta waves them all over. "All right, all right. Everybody come sit. No more surprise attacks, I promise, Seiya. Just glad everyone could make it on short notice."

"Wouldn't miss it," Shoutarou says cheerfully, returning to his seat. 

"Yeah," Sho mutters under his breath. "Not when there's free alcohol to be had."

Daisuke coughs to disguise a laugh; he doesn't think anyone other than him and Kenta heard. Shoutarou is still grinning at Seiya, who's making a round of _long time no see_ 's — and, Daisuke thinks, trying to put some distance between them lest Shoutarou break into another spontaneous display of affection, Kenta's promise be damned.

Daisuke returns Seiya's polite smile, and catches Yutaka's eye — tries not to make too desperate of a face, in case anyone else notices — and thankfully, Yutaka sits down next to him without further prompting. 

Seiya notices a split second too late. He takes the remaining seat, across from Shoutarou, with an air of resignation.

Yutaka beams at all of them. "Well. This is a sight for sore eyes."

"Some of us more than others, right?" Sho deadpans. 

"You know it," Shoutarou picks up, like a well-rehearsed routine. "Buchou hasn't aged a day in ten years."

"You look well, Kenta," Seiya adds in a gentlemanly sort of way, and Kenta flaps his hands in what's either an attempt to fend off the teasing or possibly to flag down a waiter. 

Either way, a waiter appears. There's a moment of confusion in determining if they're ready to order yet; Daisuke tries to signal that he's okay with whatever; Seiya frowns at the drinks list, while Shoutarou tells him to hurry it up, he always gets the same beer anyway.

In the end, Kenta orders a round of drinks to start them off, and Yutaka — after a quick glance at menu — adds a couple finger dishes to the order. No one objects. No one seems to know how to resume the conversation, either, after the waiter leaves.

Yutaka passes the menu to Seiya, who looks a bit too relieved to have something to stare at, and turns to Shoutarou, "So how was your show tonight? You came straight from the theater?"

For whatever reason, Shoutarou glances at Daisuke before he answers. "Yeah." Shoutarou's grin is both smug and inscrutable. "It was great — I mean, I brought down the house, if I do say so myself."

"Wow," says Sho, glancing at his watch. "We went all of fifteen minutes without you praising yourself."

"As you can see," Shoutarou says blithely, "Jinchan agrees with me."

Yutaka laughs, while Seiya rolls his eyes, and Kenta shakes his head with an indulgent little smile. Daisuke isn't sure what his scripted reaction is supposed to be. It kind of feels like no one remembered to leave him a part.

"But yeah," Shoutarou adds. "It's been a good run. Last show's on Friday. You all should come see me! Reunion, part three. Or, well, part two — for those who missed last week's installment." 

Kenta's brow furrows just slightly at that, and Daisuke resists the urge to hide behind Yutaka — Seiya's already pulled that one. Anyway, Shoutarou is grinning at Seiya. Who is obviously regretting his decision to put down the menu and start paying attention to the conversation.

"I don't really have time this week." Seiya does sound apologetic. "I've heard good things, though. From everyone who's gone."

Shoutarou raises both eyebrows. "Who do _you_ know that's been to see it?"

"Um." There's a split second pause that makes it pretty obvious he's been caught. But then Seiya shrugs. "Daisuke said you were great."

Everyone looks at him.

"Completely stole the show," Daisuke says, because it's the truth. Also, what else is he supposed to say? Shoutarou is watching him a little too intently for someone who's never had a problem taking compliments. Daisuke casts for something else to say. "Really, it's a great production. Kikuchi's also perfect in his role. Which, I mean, considering."

Sho makes a sound of agreement, and Seiya says blankly, "Who?"

A pause.

Shoutarou leans forward, eyes narrowed. "Konishi, do you even _listen_ to the gossip I tell you?"

Seiya returns his glare with a placid look. "Not really, no."

Yutaka looks between them with interest. "What gossip is this?"

"The artist known as _Rou_ ," Shoutarou says, the same time Kenta adds, "He was in Tenimyu, I don't know if you remember—"

"Oh, no, I know who he is!" Yutaka laughs like there's some hidden joke that Daisuke doesn't get. There could be, for all he knows; but no one else seems to have picked up on it, so maybe not. Yutaka says, "I just meant, what's the gossip? Takuya-kun always seemed like a fairly scandal-free kind of person to me."

Shoutarou snorts. "Yeah, he's a unicorn, all right." He might be imagining it, but Daisuke is pretty sure Shoutarou glances at him again before continuing. "But no, that's the thing — and I say this with love, because he is my co-star and I want nothing but the best for him — he really needs to get laid. Rumor has it that he's still hung up on a certain someone, which — I mean, I'm all for the tragic formative artistic experience, but sometimes you just need a good make-out session. For stress relief. And perspective."

It's not just Daisuke's imagination, as a sudden and tense silence falls over his end of the table. Not that either he or Sho have contributed much to conversation so far, but even Kenta looks a bit uncomfortable, and Seiya is definitely glaring at Shoutarou for that comment.

Yutaka's chuckle shatters the moment, just as a server appears with their drinks and food. 

It's a welcome distraction. Shoutarou's attention shifts to arranging the dishes placed in front of him. Seiya takes the pitcher of beer, dutifully filling Yutaka's glass first; it earns him a huge smile. Seiya blinks — possibly blushes, though it's hard to tell in the dim lighting — and continues pouring for the rest of the table.

Yutaka hands him a glass while Shoutarou does the same for Kenta. And that doesn't seem quite right. It's been years, and they're not exactly coworkers anymore, but still, going by seniority—

No one's looking anyway. Daisuke passes his drink to Sho.

And he doesn't really know what to make of the way Sho glances at him — startled, almost. Daisuke doesn't know why it should be surprising. It's what anyone else would have done, right? Even if Sho used to always look after him, when really, it should have been the other way around. 

Another glass is placed in front of him. When he looks over, Yutaka is giving him a faint smile. 

No one else seems to have noticed. Daisuke breathes out. Smiles back.

Shoutarou says, "So! Who's making the toast?"

Daisuke looks to Kenta — and finds him looking at Yutaka instead. "Care to do the honors?" Kenta suggests. "I'm not great at sentiment, or so I've been told."

"Oh. Sure!" Yutaka lifts his glass, pauses while everyone else follows. He says, "Ten years sounds like a lot, but it's gone way too fast. Some of us are turning into old men, and some of us were already born that way. Others seem to have aged backwards — no need to be jealous of me or anything." That gets a snort from Seiya, and a faint smirk from Sho. Yutaka laughs. "Either way, a lot's happened, and I expect we've all got some catching up to do. Seems like just yesterday we were all strangers. But friends always find a way back to each other. I really believe that." Yutaka smiles at each of them, lingering just a bit longer on Daisuke than the rest. "So. To old times and good memories, or good times and old memories — to all of us. Cheers, everybody."

"Cheers," says Daisuke, along with everyone else. 

The glasses clink, a clear, crisp sound. Even Shoutarou's smile looks softer, after Yutaka's little speech. 

And it's not sentiment, not exactly, that makes Daisuke want to believe Yutaka — that whatever else might have happened, however they might all have changed, all the ways in which they've meant something to one another — that this much, at least, might stay the same.

"Now, then. What's everyone been up to?" Yutaka asks. "I assume you've all seen me on TV, so we can skip that."

"We all hear about you from our mothers," Sho says, which makes Shoutarou laugh. "That's some effective marketing. Really hitting your target audience there, with the 55 to 64 stay-at-home housewife demographic."

"Spoken like a college graduate," says Shoutarou.

Seiya makes a sound that might have been a scoff. "I don't know if that's college or corporate."

"Both, probably." Sho lifts his glass to Seiya, who looks a bit embarrassed. "But that's what I chose, so I'll take it as a compliment."

"I didn't mean—" 

Seiya doesn't get to finish that sentence, as Shoutarou jumps in with, "What about _you_ , Konishi? Last I heard, you'd sold out and started dating a girl — a _masters candidate._ " Shoutarou waggles his eyebrows. "Is that her academic qualification, or just what you call her behind closed doors?"

Kenta starts coughing, while Seiya splutters, "Where did you even— What do you mean _sold out_?"

"I mean, you _could_ be dating a guy but you're going all heteronormative on your bisexuality—"

"Okay, for the last time, that is _not_ what either of those mean—"

The incipient argument is cut short as Yutaka jumps in with a timely, "But that's wonderful, Seiya! What's she like?"

"Er." Seiya checks his indignation; his ears turn pink as Yutaka beams at him like a proud mother. "Thanks. I mean, yeah — it's. She's great. Not that we're _dating_ dating or anything. It's. You know." Seiya drinks his beer in lieu of actually finishing that sentence.

Shoutarou finishes it for him. "You haven't had the talk yet?"

"It is what it is," says Seiya, cryptically. He turns the question back on Shoutarou, "Anyway, what's up with you?"

"What isn't up with me?"

"You seeing anyone?"

"Please, as if I have time." Shoutarou glances at Kenta — which is a bit weird, Daisuke thinks — but then Shoutarou says, "Anyway, there's already enough monogamous schmoop in my life thanks to some people. Got all the secondhand embarrassment I can handle, honestly."

Daisuke catches the faint flush that creeps over Kenta's face, and looks away. It's not guilt, exactly, but the feeling is about the same: something in him doesn't want to know, some childish part that wants to believe acknowledging a fact is what actually makes it real, so the corollary must be that—

He hears Seiya ask, "Wait. You're seeing someone, Kenta?"

There's a pause.

Sho says, "Looks like we all have some catching up to do."

"Nothing wrong with that," Yutaka notes.

"You seriously don't listen to anything I tell you, do you?" Shoutarou sighs at Seiya, who scowls back at him. "Also, how was I the only one to see it coming? I mean, it's so obvious you two are perfect for each other, like, it'd be weirder if you _hadn't_ gone all gross and domestic at some point—"

"Sho and I have been dating for a couple months," Kenta says hastily, while Shoutarou rolls his eyes at the strategically-timed interruption. Kenta makes a vague gesture. "Anyway, yeah. Now that we're all on the same page."

Yutaka says nothing, and Daisuke doesn't dare look at Sho. Seiya blinks at all of them. Then turns to Shoutarou, "Is _that_ what you meant by—"

"What about you, Daisuke?" Kenta says suddenly, as if he can yank the conversation back under control by sheer force of will. Then again, if anyone can make something happen with just patience and determination, it would be Kenta. It's a compliment, Daisuke thinks. At least, he wants it to be. Kenta continues, "We didn't get much time to catch up on Thursday. How've you been?"

Everyone turns to look at him. Daisuke tells himself to sit up straight and not shrink away; there's nowhere to run anyway. Kenta's expression is as kind as ever. Daisuke focuses on that. If he just focuses on that much, he can smile and say,

"I'm doing okay. It's kind of exciting, being back in the big city, especially after so long." And if he chooses to gloss over exactly how long that dreary _so long_ was, there's no one here who can call him out on it. "Yutaka and I went to this tea place the other day — what was it called, Ladies' Tea or something?"

"Lady Grey," Yutaka offers helpfully. "Highly recommend it, by the way, if anyone's thinking of going."

"Sounds idyllic," Shoutarou remarks. "Wish I had the time."

"Don't we all," Seiya sighs. And there's nothing mean-spirited in his voice, Daisuke knows, but it stings all the same. 

Yutaka says, "Important to take time for yourself. One of my secrets to looking fresh and youthful."

Sho grins. "That and a painting in the attic, huh?" 

"Hush, you." Yutaka smiles at Sho anyway. "Just because you've got a face that'll last you 'til you're old and grey."

"You know, I think you're the first person to ever insinuate that I have a baby face?"

"More like you've always been sixteen going on sixty."

Yutaka sips his drink primly while Seiya snickers, and even Kenta ducks his head to hide a grin. Sho rolls his eyes, but he doesn't seem offended. Just the opposite, actually; the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth is one that Daisuke remembers — doesn't think he'll ever forget — because it's so _real_. An obvious break in character, even when Sho's deep into his acting. 

"Missed you, too, Kobayashi-san," Sho says. 

Yutaka lifts his glass in acknowledgement. "You'd better have."

"We should do this more often," Shoutarou muses. Elbow on the table, chin propped lazily against his hand as he grins at all of them. He looks almost like the kid from Daisuke's memory. Until he says, "I mean, whenever Daisuke's back in town again. Speaking of which, how long are you gonna be around?"

Everyone's looking at him again. Everyone except Sho, actually. And that could mean anything. Daisuke tells himself he's allowed to have more than one reason for coming back.

He says, "A while, I hope. Actually, I've been — you guys remember Utsumi Daisuke? The one from Tenimyu. Utsumi-kun. I've been practicing with his dance studio the last couple of days. It's not as easy as it used to be — probably because I've been aging normally, unlike Yutaka — but, I don't know. I'm thinking about maybe going for auditions at some point. If anything comes up."

There's a pause. Daisuke drinks his beer, and his hand isn't shaking too badly. Meanwhile, Shoutarou's eyebrows have practically disappeared into his hairline. Sho's expression gives nothing away, and Kenta — is staring at him for some reason. Daisuke resists the urge to fiddle with his hair. It's probably not that.

Yutaka says, "You didn't tell me." His voice is full of quiet wonder, which isn't something you hear too often. Not from Yutaka, anyway. "Dai-chan, that's wonderful."

Daisuke smiles back at him. "Yeah. I mean. Fingers crossed."

"Good for you," says Seiya, surprising at least half the table. Seiya doesn't seem to notice, or is choosing to ignore the way Shoutarou narrows his eyes at him. Or maybe because of that. "Let me know how it goes. I'll come see one of your shows if I have time."

"I'm gonna remember that," Shoutarou says, "when it doesn't happen."

"Jealousy isn't a good look," Seiya retorts, completely immune to Shoutarou's glare. 

Kenta says, finally, "Good luck, Daisuke. It can't have been an easy decision, after all this time."

"We'll all come see your first show," Yutaka declares, as if it were a done deal. "Seriously. Let's do it. I bet we can find the time if we plan it in advance."

"I'm in," says Sho. 

Something in his chest goes _ba-dum_ , and Daisuke firmly tells himself to stop it. No point getting his hopes up, when it's all still hypothetical. "Thanks," he manages, and even manages a smile. "I mean, who knows if it'll even work out. But."

"I hear you," says Seiya. "It's rough out there, when all the money's going into the VR hype."

Shoutarou snorts. "Who's bitter now, Konishi?"

"Says the person who's been jealous of Shison since two thousand and late."

It's Yutaka's turn to raise an eyebrow, as Shoutarou's smirk disappears into a thin smile. "Yeah, well. Nobody ever said it's easy."

"Not when it's worth it," Sho remarks. He shrugs at Kenta's inquisitive look. "All part of the process, right?"

Daisuke looks down at his own drink, even as Kenta says, "Right. Well."

"A toast!" Yutaka's laugh cuts through the weird mood. He lifts his glass, holding it there until everyone follows suit. Maybe it's Daisuke's imagination. Maybe not. Yutaka smiles at him. "To new challenges."

"To Daisuke," Seiya adds dutifully, over a murmured chorus of _cheers_.

And it's not what he expected, not exactly — but he'll take it, Daisuke thinks. Nothing worth it was ever easy, even if it felt inevitable. Ten years have taught him that, if nothing else.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, let's get lunch," Jun says with no preamble, when Daisuke answers a call from an unknown number around noon. "You're still in Tokyo, right?"

A day ago, the blunt insinuation might've made him balk, or at least pause. Today, though — he'd woken this morning with a strange feeling of lightness in his chest. It might've been the early hour, just past dawn and summer bright in the small strip of window set high in his wall. He'd fallen asleep texting Yutaka; his phone lay next to his pillow, and there was just enough battery left for him to read Yutaka's last message: 

_We'll go shopping when I get back :) Come see the show next week! It's gonna be a good one._

And the strange feeling persisted, despite the reminder that Yutaka was going away for a couple days — for work, not pleasure ( _Though of course it's never really an either/or_ , read one of Yutaka's texts, which had made Daisuke snort). But it's not like Daisuke's going away anytime soon, so that's all right. Maybe that's what that strange feeling was. Purpose. Or something like it. Something close enough to be the opposite of anxious.

It lets him laugh at Jun's tactless question. "Yeah, I'm still here. And sure. Where do you want to go?"

If Jun is surprised by Daisuke's cheerful tone, he says nothing of it. More likely, Jun _thinks_ nothing of it. And that's fine. That's good, even; it's normal. 

Jun sends him directions to a restaurant. Daisuke adds the new number to his contacts, then spends a minute scrolling through his recent calls and messages. Jun. Yutaka. Kenta. Utsumi. A group chat with people at the studio, to coordinate practice times and what-not. Yui. Tomoru. 

It's nice, Daisuke thinks absently, knowing that all this exists, now, for him, too. 

He gets to the restaurant a bit early, spends a minute double-checking that it's the right place — it looks horribly expensive, but then again, so was the place he and Jun and Tomoru had gone to last week. Daisuke studies the menu by the door. Maybe he's not really that hungry. He can always stop by a convenience store before going to the studio later.

A tap on his shoulder. Daisuke jumps before he can stop himself — ready to apologize to management or whoever it is that's come to shoo him away — and turns to see Jun. Who's wearing a baseball cap and giant sunglasses that, honestly, do almost nothing to disguise the fact that it's him.

"Hey," says Daisuke, but before he can get another word out, Jun takes him by the elbow and practically drags him inside.

He doesn't see whatever signal passes between Jun and the manager, but whatever it is, it gets them seated and taken care of with alarming speed and minimal fuss. 

Daisuke takes a sip of water and looks across the table at Jun, who's frowning at the menu. "Are you being followed?"

"What?"

"Just wondering, since." Daisuke gestures toward the sunglasses. 

"Oh, this? No, it's—" Jun takes them off, along with the baseball cap, scowling at both as he puts them aside. His hair sticks up for a second, before settling back into an artfully messy tousle. "I had to stop by the office, and didn't want to get held up."

"I see," says Daisuke, though he doesn't.

Not that it matters, as Jun continues, "It's been a week. I mean, I'm not against saying hi or having a quick chat or whatever. Professional courtesy and all. But some people can't take a hint. I don't know what's gotten into Shoutarou lately. The other day, he actually invited me to lunch, when he knew perfectly well I had to be on location in like five minutes, and he kept talking at me anyway. And this morning — well, you saw him yesterday, right?"

Daisuke blinks. "Um. Yeah. We went for drinks with some other people."

"Yeah, your reunion. He wouldn't shut up about that, even though — no offense, I think it's great you all get along or whatever, but it's such old news. Plus, he's seen you more often than I have since you came back, so it should be _me_ asking him what you've been up to." Jun pauses. "Anyway, I thought I'd catch you while you're around. So. What's up?"

Daisuke thinks maybe he should be offended that it took such a convoluted sequence of irritations for Jun to decide to spend time with him. Then again, it's Jun. That he thought to reach out to Daisuke at all — without Tomoru badgering him into it — is enough to smile about. 

"What?" Jun asks defensively, while Daisuke tries and fails to muffle a laugh.

Daisuke shakes his head. "Nothing, just glad to see you." Jun looks even more nonplussed at that. Daisuke smiles at him. "I'll be around for a while. I've been working with this dance studio — nothing serious for now, but who knows. Anyway, that's what I've been up to. Shoutarou didn't mention?"

Jun blinks at him. "No," he says slowly. "Left that out."

And if some part of Daisuke feels uneasy — feels more than a little hurt, really — at the mounting proof that Shoutarou hasn't and probably never will forgive him, well. He's trying. And he'll keep trying. But he's not going to blame himself for everything. Not anymore.

"How's that going?" Jun asks. "Also, when you say dance studio, is this like, an establishment that does lessons and stuff, or a bunch of wannabes hashtagging 'dance is not a crime' all over the place? Not that there's anything wrong with dance," Jun adds hastily, "legally speaking."

Daisuke checks a snort, because Utsumi has definitely dropped that line more than once. "No, it's not like that. They do hip-hop, yeah, but there's a good mix of people and styles and everyone kind of has their own thing. They've all been really nice to me, even when I'm kind of bad at everything since I've been out of it for so long." _But I'm a quick study,_ Daisuke doesn't add, because that sounds a bit boastful. Even if it's true. "I'm heading over there later for open practice," he finishes instead.

"So is this like, a dance troupe? Are you in a show?"

"No. I mean." Daisuke feels the words hovering on his tongue. "Not yet, anyway. But some of the guys have a show coming up soon, if you want to go see it — tickets are ¥2,000 at the door." Daisuke grins at the look on Jun's face. "Hey, they need to pay rent _somehow_."

"Doesn't everybody," Jun mutters. He sits back and studies Daisuke for a moment. "So you're really doing this, huh? Just like Tomoru said."

Daisuke starts to nod, then pauses. "What did Tomoru say?"

"Yesterday, when we went for lunch—" Jun cuts off when a waiter appears to take their order. He glances down at the menu, then at Daisuke. "What do you feel like?"

"Ah, actually, I'm not that hungry—"

"Are you kidding me? If you're going to dance practice later, you need carbs." Jun turns to the waiter and orders two pasta dishes, overriding Daisuke's weak protest. 

"I was just going to get some soup," Daisuke tries, though the waiter's already left and taken the menus with him. "Really. I don't eat a lot anyway."

"Yeah, I remember." Jun's giving him a look that makes Daisuke feel like he's being set up. And then Jun says, "Tomoru used to make us take turns force feeding you lunch so you wouldn't collapse during practice."

"That was only once! And more like I tripped."

Jun laughs at him. "You're so skinny I'm amazed you managed to stay upright, ever." 

"Like you can talk."

"I have a lean athletic build," Jun counters breezily. "Speaking of which, Shirasu said hi. I would've invited him but he's away for the rest of the week." It takes Daisuke long enough to react that Jun adds, a tad concerned, "You know. Shirasu Jin? The tall one?"

"No, I — remember." There's a weird feeling behind his eyes, making him blink too hard. "I just didn't think he'd remember me."

And if it were Yutaka sitting across from him, there might've been a moment of understanding silence. If it were Tomoru, he might've squeezed Daisuke's hand, reassuring.

But it's Jun, so instead Daisuke gets a snort. "Oh, he remembers. He never lets on, that asshole, but he doesn't forget anything. It's always the quiet ones," Jun mutters darkly. "Anyway, you should give him a call."

"I will," Daisuke says with resolve, then realizes the logistical problem. His hands reach for his phone, and he barely stops himself from fiddling with it. "Do you have his number?"

Jun blinks. Then nods, holding out his hand for Daisuke's phone. Daisuke gives it to him. 

"How'd you get my number anyway?" Daisuke asks while Jun types in the contact info.

Jun rolls his eyes. "Tomoru." The _duh_ is heavily implied. "Which is also why I have Shirasu's number. Tomoru made us all exchange updated contact info at lunch, like it was some kind of cast meeting."

"Oh." Daisuke hesitates as Jun hands the phone back to him. It feels heavier than it did a minute ago.

"What?" Jun cranes his neck to peer at the phone. "Did I hit the wrong button?"

"No, it — looks good. Thanks." Daisuke puts his phone away. "I mean, if Jin already got my number from Tomoru, then—"

"What?"

"—I can wait for him to reach out. When it's convenient," Daisuke finishes lamely. Something about the way Jun's frowning at him makes him feel defensive. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

Jun frowns at him a moment longer. Then he says, "You really need to work on that confidence thing."

"Excuse me?"

"Tomoru gave me your number because I asked. He's not handing out your contact info to everyone, so stop worrying that Shirasu doesn't want to see you or whatever it is you're fussing about." It takes Daisuke a second to recognize the note in Jun's voice as — _patience_. Like he's explaining something to a particularly slow child. Which. "Anyway, I don't think Shirasu even likes Tomoru all that much. The feeling's probably mutual — Tomoru doesn't like people he can't control." 

If Jun realizes the implication of what he just said, he gives no indication. Daisuke drinks his water, and gets another minute's reprieve as their food arrives. 

The pasta does look good, he has to admit, and the water's doing nothing to stop the rumbling in his stomach. Jun digs in with relish; after a final, rueful apology to his wallet, Daisuke follows suit.

"So how did it go?" Daisuke can't help but ask, after a couple bites. "It was you and Tomoru and Jin and — Kikuchi?"

Jun's face darkens for a split second, but before Daisuke can do anything like apologize or change the subject, Jun's expression clears into cool detachment. "Yeah," he says. "And Kuwano. And he was coming straight from the studio so he brought Isedai with him. Honestly, if he'd just _said_ , we probably could've gotten the whole gang, but — well. Who knows what goes on in Akazawa Tomoru's head."

"That sounds nice, though," Daisuke says in what he hopes is a diplomatic manner. "You guys still keep in touch?"

"Who, Tomoru?"

"No. Everyone."

"Oh god, no. I mean." Jun frowns at his pasta. "Isedai's always around, but I'm pretty sure Shirasu's been avoiding all of us on purpose. And I respect that. Sometimes you just need to move on." The weird maturity of that statement shocks Daisuke into silence. Long enough for Jun to add, "Not that you'd know it, looking at Kikuchi. He's just so — _Kikuchi_."

The disgruntled look on Jun's face nearly makes Daisuke laugh. He hides it behind a sip of water, before saying, "He's got a unique artistry."

Jun snorts. "Yeah, he's a real unicorn."

"You used to be friends," Daisuke points out. Though it sounds kind of like a question, because given everything Tomoru's told him, he's not so sure anymore.

"We _are_ friends." Jun's scowl seems to contradict the statement. "But that doesn't mean I have to _like_ him or his stupid music."

 _Who said anything about liking anyone?_ Daisuke doesn't get a chance to ask as Jun's phone goes off. Jun checks who's calling — "Work stuff. Sorry. One sec." — and gets up to take the call elsewhere.

Daisuke checks his own phone. No missed messages. But then, Yutaka's probably busy packing. And Tomoru doesn't really text people just for the sake of texting people, though he always replies if you text him first. Daisuke thinks about doing that for a second. Something makes him scroll through the rest of his contacts instead.

He types into a blank message window:

_This is Hirose Daisuke. It's been a really long time. How are you? I got your number from Shison Jun (hope you don't mind). I just wanted to reach out and let you know that I'm in Tokyo and will be around for a while. I'd love to catch up sometime, whenever is convenient._

That's as far as he gets when Jun returns, dropping into his seat with a disgusted, "I swear to god, Kikuchi is _such_ an embarrassing person."

Daisuke looks over and finds Jun scowling at his phone. "What happened?" 

"I asked about this song he's been working on, just like, professional courtesy, you know? And he says—"

"He texted you?" Daisuke can't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Jun notices. He gives Daisuke a disdainful look. "Well, yeah. Like I said, we're friends. But listen to this: _It's a very personal song. Almost confessional, though then again I think the best songs are always more intimate than people expect. Art means something because we put a piece of ourselves out there for others to judge — or appreciate, if we're so lucky._ " Jun snorts so hard Daisuke almost offers him a tissue. "Can you believe this guy? First of all, I don't think he could write an impersonal song if his life depended on it. Second, I just meant like, is it a ballad or an uptempo number. And instead I get this."

Daisuke fights back a grin that probably won't help. "He's got to be true to himself."

"There's such a thing as being _too_ himself." Jun types something into his phone anyway, and hits send. "At least he's better about it in person. Though, god help me, if he brings his stupid lyric notebook to coffee tomorrow—"

"Wait, what?"

"Huh?"

Daisuke checks the gleeful urge to tease Jun about it. Tomoru would kill him for ruining a coffee date. Or whatever this is. "Nothing," he says instead. "Just surprised. I didn't think you'd want to see him, since he's so — you know."

"Oh, well. It never hurts to have good professional relationships." Jun's tone is probably supposed to be magnanimous. "Anyway, it's just coffee. It's what friends do. Get lunch, grab a coffee, make time for each other. Like we're doing."

"This is nice," Daisuke agrees. He decides it's better to just not comment on the rest. Who knows. Maybe Jun even has a point — sometimes a coffee is just that. "We should do this more often. If you have time."

"I can make time," Jun says easily enough. "We're all adults here. Now somebody just needs to inform Tomoru, and we'll be all set."

"I think Tomoru's pretty adult himself."

"Yeah, not like that." Jun doesn't even sound upset, just impatient. Like he knows he's right, and it's annoying that nobody else agrees with him. Maybe that's what he meant by confidence. "He didn't even mention that he'd invited Kuwano and the rest to lunch, did I tell you? It's not like anyone would've said no. Well, maybe Shirasu, but that's another story. But Tomoru could've just said. I know he misses everyone, and that's fine, he's allowed to do that. But no-o-o, that'd be too easy. It's like he can't do anything without covering himself in misdirection. Honestly, it's kind of exhausting. If you want to see your friends, then you should just make plans and see them, you know? Like me and Kikuchi are doing." 

Jun finishes his speech with a slightly smug look, as if he'd one-upped Tomoru in whatever feud they're having. Daisuke doesn't know what. But he'd be willing to bet that, if anyone is winning, it's not Jun.

He files it away for later. Smiles and says, out loud, "When did you get so smart, huh?"

"I've always been smart." Jun actually tosses his head, and Daisuke laughs. He knows Jun won't be offended; he's smiling himself. "Took you long enough to finally notice."

"Sorry," says Daisuke, and knows he doesn't sound sorry in the least. "Natural tendency to assume the pretty ones are also the dumb ones."

"I hear you," Jun retorts easily. "Brains, beauty, _and_ brawn. I'm one in a million."

"Yup," Daisuke agrees, deadpan. "A real unicorn."

He manages to keep a straight face for all of two seconds, as Jun splutters and then turns a shade of red that he'll deny for the rest of his life, probably, because Shison Jun is nothing if not obstinate once he's made up his mind. And that's something Daisuke appreciates about him. About people in general, really. Because people change — but what doesn't change — what _won't_ change, because it's at the core of who you are — that's what really matters.

Maybe it's because of that. 

Later, after lunch, as he's walking to the studio, he remembers the text he never sent to Jin. He sends it, after editing it to sound a little less stilted and a little more like they're actually friends, because they are.

Then he opens a new message:

_Really nice seeing you yesterday. Hope work's going well. I'm heading to the studio rn, but let's get coffee sometime if you're free? :)_

He hits send.

Maybe he'll get a response. Maybe he won't. But Daisuke's going to try, at least, because he wants to. And as for the rest, well — that's up to Sho.

 

* * *

 

"From the top. Ikkun, count us in."

"—maybe heading to the gym, I don't know."

"Like that's gonna help, when the musclehead thing is his whole problem—"

"Daisuke, may I borrow you for a moment?"

"Hey, Yuuko, what was that thing you did earlier? Show me again?"

The general hubbub of open practice flows over him, and Daisuke tunes out most of it with ease. His hair sticks to his neck, damp with sweat, but he doesn't mind. It's a good kind of inconvenience, like the feeling in his limbs is a good kind of soreness. Well used. Useful.

He leans against an unused wall, staying out of everyone's way, and thinks about how to respond to the text he'd just received.

 _Good on you,_ Jin had written, after Daisuke explained where he was and what he was doing. _Don't know a lot of people who'd have the guts, and I mean that in the best way possible._

Jin didn't have to add that last part, Daisuke thinks, smiling to himself. Jin is a big believer in the "if you have nothing nice to say, then say nothing at all" school of thought. It comes off as either aloofness or shyness, sometimes, because — and Daisuke laughs just remembering the moment he first realized this — Jin doesn't often have nice things to say to people. 

But he'll never talk about someone behind their back, either, so his silence is just that: a personal ethic. And a compliment from Jin is worth ten empty ones from other people.

Daisuke starts to type, _Thank you, I appreciate that_ — and nearly jumps out of his skin when someone taps him on the shoulder. He looks up to see one of the dancers who's been working with him the last couple of days.

Asumi laughs at his startled expression. 

"Ryuu's calling for you," she says. "Not that anyone can tell, with his rabbit voice." She glances back over her shoulder and hollers at the man in question, "Oy! You coming over or are we coming to you?"

Ryuu seems to think about it for a moment, then wanders over, carefully sidestepping a breakdance demonstration in the middle of the room.

"Sorry," Daisuke says once he's within earshot. "I did hear you, but — I just thought you meant Utsumi-kun."

Asumi raises an eyebrow, but Ryuu simply nods, unflappably solemn as ever. In the week he's been practicing here, Daisuke hasn't once seen Ryuu lose his cool or raise his voice. Or smile, for that matter. 

"We do need one more," Ryuu muses to Asumi. "Where is Umi-kun?"

Asumi shrugs. "Texting his girlfriend, probably." When neither Ryuu nor Daisuke moves, Asumi sighs dramatically. "Oh no, don't worry, I'll fetch him."

"Thank you," Ryuu says to her back, though Daisuke doesn't think she can hear them anymore. A group of three nearby has begun what looks like a dance-off, spectator catcalls and all.

Ryuu doesn't seem to notice, but also doesn't move away, or say anything. Daisuke tries not to fidget. 

"Usually 'Daisuke' means someone else," he blurts, finally. "I've gotten used to that. I'm sorry."

Ryuu gives him a thoughtful look. "Do you mind my calling you Daisuke?"

He almost says, _Hirose is fine_ — except. That's his name to strangers, coworkers who didn't care for him, even when he tried to be useful, and belonging to a time that he still doesn't like remembering. To his friends, he's always been _Daisuke_. 

"Daisuke is fine," he says. "I mean. If Utsumi-kun doesn't mind."

"Why should he? It is your name."

 _Not the way he sees it,_ Daisuke thinks, but then Asumi is returning with Utsumi in tow.

"Here we are," Asumi says. "One Umi-kun, for Ryuu-san."

"Stop it already," Utsumi laughs. "You both know perfectly well what my actual name is."

"Yes, of course, Ucchan."

Utsumi eyes Asumi, who smiles sweetly at him. Despite that, Daisuke thinks, there's no denying her presence or authority, even though she's at least a full head shorter than him. 

"It came to me last night," Ryuu says placidly, apropos of absolutely nothing, "I know what our demo piece is missing. Balance. Or rather, counterbalance. The symmetry was disrupted by the too perfect symmetry between the two couples. Now, I'd like to see it in motion to fully understand—"

"Just tell them what you need," Asumi interrupts patiently.

"The updated choreography," Ryuu says. "If I may trouble you both."

"I can stand in for Hiro if you need, but we've still got three guys and one girl," Utsumi points out. He glances at Daisuke. "Unless you want Hirose to pretend to be Reiko?"

"He's the right height," Asumi points out, while Daisuke flushes to his roots. Ryuu simply nods again, which doesn't help. 

But Ryuu turns to him and asks, "Do you remember the piece we demonstrated yesterday, Daisuke?"

Daisuke blinks. Because — well, yes, he'd surreptitiously shadowed some of Ryuu's choreography, mostly to challenge himself, but also because it looked _amazing_. He didn't think anyone had noticed. He hadn't wanted to butt in — but Ryuu doesn't seem to care, as he waits for Daisuke to say yes.

"Yes," says Daisuke. "I mean, mostly. I think."

Asumi smiles at him, while Ryuu has already moved on to explaining the new choreography to Utsumi — who spares a moment to throw Daisuke a glance that's half exasperated, half amused. Five years ago, Daisuke knows, there would have been nothing but irritation in that look.

"Whoa, wait," Utsumi says, at something Ryuu's describing. "You want to add a bit of _what?_ "

"Rumba."

"I don't do rumba," Utsumi says flatly. A pause. "I mean, I can _do_ it, obviously. But I don't think Mai-chan's gonna like it."

"Why? It's just a dance." Asumi grabs his hand before he can slouch away. "And you don't do it that well, so focus."

Utsumi looks actually irritated this time, as Asumi walks him through some of the steps. Despite her less than willing partner, she's brilliant: strong, sensuous but perfectly contained to be just this side of lewd — and then Daisuke realizes—

"You want _me_ to do _that?_ "

His voice comes out almost like a squeak. 

"If you don't mind," Ryuu says.

Daisuke flushes. He turns to Ryuu to apologize, because he didn't mean — but just — the way Asumi is _moving_ against Utsumi. No wonder he looks a bit uncomfortable.

Ryuu just holds out his hand to Daisuke. "Let me walk you through the steps?"

Daisuke hesitates. "I don't know—" But what's his objection, really? Ryuu's looking at him quizzically. Daisuke takes his hand. "I don't know if I can do it."

"You're a very quick learner," Ryuu says, and says it like a fact. "I realize the rumba has been called the woman's bedroom dance, but I assure you, anyone can do it. Now, first—"

Daisuke doesn't know how he manages to follow the instructions after that, as he's pretty sure his face is on fire. But he does — and only trips over Ryuu's feet once — and after a few false starts, as Ryuu changes and updates his choreography on the fly, while Utsumi grouches, and Asumi ignores him — there's something that looks like the beginnings of a mind-blowing number. 

"That's it," Ryuu pronounces happily, smiling over Daisuke's shoulder at Asumi. "Much better."

Daisuke catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and wishes, against all logic, that he could actually perform the finished piece.

 

* * *

 

 _Good luck,_ reads the latest text from Jin. _Maybe we'll get to perform again together sometime._

It almost feels like tempting fate, but Daisuke texts back anyway: _I'd love that. Fingers crossed :)_

Behind him, the studio is emptying out as the last of the stragglers pack up their things and bicker over who's got cleanup duty. Daisuke thinks about offering to help. He probably hasn't earned enough trust to lock up, but wiping the floors and putting away equipment — he can help with that.

He hears voices in the corridor, drawing closer. 

"Look, I'm not saying Mai-chan gets _jealous_ or anything. She's not that kinda girl. But it happens, you know? Anyway, I'm just saying—"

"Honestly, Utsumi, I don't care. Like, at all. Okay?"

"What, are you mad at me?"

"No, because that's what I'm saying — I'm not that kind of girl, and neither is Mai, so it's just your problem. Deal with it."

Daisuke steps back from the door as the voices approach, and Asumi walks through, Utsumi trailing after her. He opens his mouth like he's getting ready to dig himself even further into whatever hole he's fallen down — but Asumi spots Daisuke and grins. 

"Hey. Thanks for putting up with Ryuu. See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course," Daisuke says, aware that he's acting as a human filler to keep Utsumi quiet. Utsumi, to his credit, realizes. He rolls his eyes at Asumi's back, but goes to collect his things.

Asumi winks at Daisuke — "We owe you one, Dai-chan," — then busies herself organizing the cleanup effort.

It's not until she's already turned her back that Daisuke realizes that's not true: if anything, _he_ owes them. Also, he doesn't remember agreeing to being called that by someone who's neither Yutaka nor Tomoru. 

Then again, Asumi actually seems to like him.

So maybe that's all right. 

"Where you headed?" Utsumi asks right behind him and making him jump. He recovers quickly, but not before he sees Utsumi roll his eyes with something like mischief. He snuck up on purpose. Though there's nothing repentant in his tone when he adds, "I just meant, wanna grab some food? I'm starving."

Daisuke follows him out of the studio. "Sure. As long as it's not smoothies."

"Nah, I'm in the mood for real food. You got any preferences? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

"I'm up for whatever." Daisuke's phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks it quickly — Jin again, suggesting they get dinner when he returns to Tokyo — and that reminds him. "Where's Mai-san?" The last few days, Utsumi has disappeared right after practice to meet his girlfriend.

"She's teaching a class today." Utsumi leads the way down the street, with a determination that tells Daisuke he's long since decided what he wanted to eat and was only asking as the shallowest of courtesies. "Let's get ramen. I know a great place."

Which is how they end up at a ramen stand, even though it's a little too hot for soup. But Utsumi seems satisfied, and Daisuke doesn't even mind that much, actually. The novelty of Utsumi being willing to talk to him — much less eat with him or _help_ him, the way he had, getting Daisuke into practice at the studio and even introducing him to Asumi — it's more than he ever expected, or deserved, probably.

"So when are you going for auditions?" Utsumi asks out of nowhere.

Daisuke blinks. He pulls his thoughts together. "Soon. Maybe. I mean, I'm still pretty rusty — and I don't really have anything prepared, so."

"Ask Ryuu," Utsumi suggests. "He likes you. I bet he wouldn't even charge — he's so enlightened he tends to forget about pedestrian things like money." Utsumi pauses, grinning, while Daisuke snorts. "Yeah, correct response. If not for Asumi, I don't know how they'd pay rent."

And that's — news. Well, he might have guessed it, at a push, but Daisuke finds he'd rather not speculate without cause. It's none of his business. But something must've shown in his expression, because Utsumi grins again — this time, with more edge. Because this is what he actually wanted to talk about, Daisuke realizes. 

"I know, right?" Utsumi says, leaning closer like they're conspirators. "Asumi is _way_ out of his league."

"I didn't know Ryuu even played league sports," Daisuke mutters.

Utsumi bursts into laughter — snickering, really. It makes him look like a kid again, Daisuke thinks and doesn't say.

"Good one." Utsumi grins. "I might borrow that, actually."

Daisuke smiles as well. It still surprises him, though maybe it shouldn't, that he and Utsumi tend to laugh at the same things — especially the less-than-nice things. They've always had a similar sense of humor; it was just hard to tell, back then, when Utsumi was laughing at _him_.

People change, Daisuke thinks to himself with something like affection. In his pocket, his phone buzzes again. Daisuke considers silencing it, at least for the remainder of the meal, even if Utsumi is the least etiquette conscious person he knows.

"Who've you been texting all day anyway?" Utsumi asks, though he's already turning back to his food.

Daisuke shrugs, glancing down at his phone. "Old friend of mine, Shirasu Jin. I don't know if you remember him, from..."

The rest of that sentence withers when he sees who just texted him.

_Yeah you too. Work goes. As it's wont to do. It's better when you're doing what you want to be doing, but hey. How's it going with your dance studio?_

It's just a text, and not overtly friendly at that. But then, words are never as warm as a real person. 

Because Daisuke had written, in the previous text, _Really nice seeing you yesterday_.

And now Sho's written back, _Yeah you too._

He stares at the screen and knows that he should reply, answer the question, but there's nothing coming to mind apart from a wordless upswell of something not unlike joy.

Into the lengthening silence Utsumi says, "From Tenimyu?"

Daisuke looks up. It takes him a moment to remember the conversation that had been happening before — well. He puts his phone away.

"Yeah," he says, "from Tenimyu. Shirasu."

Utsumi looks at him like that explanation made things even less clear. "The tall quiet one? Really?"

"...Yes?" Daisuke frowns at the skepticism in his voice. "We were friends."

"Oh, yeah, I know _that_. All your friends are from back then. I mean, no offense." Utsumi makes a vague waving motion. "I just meant, I didn't know you were into him or anything. Anyway, I've seen Shirasu around — he did a show with this other studio that Mai used to teach at. We had a rivalry going, but Ryuu couldn't be bothered to take it seriously, so it kinda fizzled out. But we're cool, so, you know."

Half of what he said goes right over Daisuke's head, and Daisuke doesn't even bother attempting to file it away for later. It's not relevant. Not yet, anyway. Also, there's something else Utsumi said — offhand, like it's nothing.

"Jin and I are just friends," Daisuke says, deciding it's not even worth beating around the bush. "That's all it is and ever has been. Just to be clear."

Utsumi blinks at him. Like it takes him a second to realize what Daisuke's even referring to. Then he says, "Oh," and, incredibly, "Sorry." While Daisuke takes his turn staring at _that_ , Utsumi adds, "You just looked super happy when— And I know Shirasu— Never mind. Misspoke."

Utsumi turns back to his soup.

It takes Daisuke a minute, between parsing what just happened and trying to ignore the text burning a hole in his pocket, to realize that Utsumi is _embarrassed_.

They eat in silence for a bit.

Eventually, Daisuke says, "Speaking of auditions. I do feel pretty good about the progress I've made, and if Ryuu will actually choreograph something for me — but I'd still love to hear your take on it. If you have time. I think Ryuu's too chill to give an accurate assessment of the what it's like out there."

Finishing his little speech, Daisuke glances up. And finds Utsumi eyeing him — not quite skeptical, but not a particularly welcoming expression either. If anything, he looks confused. Like he can't understand why Daisuke's saying these words.

Daisuke thinks back to what he has or hasn't said to Utsumi in the last few days, and suppresses a smile. Sometimes, Utsumi's straightforward tendencies are almost charming. 

He adds, "You've no idea how much I appreciate everything you've done for me, since that time I ran into you. Honestly, Utsu— Daisuke. I owe you."

And at that, finally, Utsumi relaxes into a near slouch. "Don't sweat it." The smug tone underlying his voice is at complete odds with his words. But when he smiles at Daisuke, it's sincere enough. "Least I can do for a friend. You know? And sure, hit me up whenever you wanna talk about auditions or whatever. I mean, you can always catch me at practice. Yeah?"

"Yeah." Daisuke returns his smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Utsumi waves it off with magnanimity. "Like I said, no prob."

And that part might not be, for all its logistical and professional troubles. But professional troubles always seemed surmountable to Daisuke, as long as he's in the right frame of mind; it's just a matter of working hard and doing what he knows he's good at.

As for the rest.

He doesn't look at his phone again until he's halfway home, the train passing through a stretch of tunnel that blocks out his cellular signal. A reprieve, of sorts, as he rereads Sho's text and tries to formulate a reply.

 _It's going well,_ is what he settles on as the train resurfaces. _I'm planning on going for auditions soon. There's a choreographer who might be willing to work with me to prep something, fingers crossed._

Daisuke hits send as he gets off the train at his stop.

He's just unlocked his door when his phone buzzes again, twice in quick succession.

_You'll be great I'm sure, like always_  
_I'll be in the area Saturday if you still want to get that coffee and tell me about it_

Daisuke locks the door behind himself, leaning against it. He could reach the light switch if he wanted, but his phone glows brightly enough to see by.

His fingers fly across the keyboard:

_I'll be at the studio in the AM, but how about noonish?_

He doesn't know how long he stands there, while the little dialogue animation tells him Sho is typing, typing, paused, typing, until finally—

_Yeah sounds good_


	6. Six

"You don't live anywhere near me, so why would you—"

"What, scared of somebody making us a blind item in whatever gossip rag is scoping out the b-list theater scene on a Tuesday night?"

"Flattering yourself, aren't you?"

"Please. I am _way_ out of your league." Shoutarou hooks his arm through Seiya's, ignoring the indignant splutter that elicits. "So really, you should be honored to walk me to the train station."

Seiya's glare would have stopped a better man in his tracks. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Shoutarou is not that man. 

"You want to tell me what the hell's actually going on?" is the last thing Sho hears before they disappear around the corner, Shoutarou still smugly attached to Seiya's elbow.

Sho shakes his head to himself.

A voice behind him says, "Quite the pair, aren't they?"

"It comforts me to know that they'll never actually be an item, considering." Sho glances at Yutaka, who gives him a smile that could mean any number of things. Most likely nothing more than the fact that Yutaka is glad to see him. He wishes it didn't make him feel quite so guilty, even though Yutaka would never guilt-trip a friend when he can smother them in affection instead. "Thanks for coming, Yuu."

"What are friends for?" Yutaka looks over his shoulder; Sho follows his gaze and sees Daisuke exiting the bar. 

Daisuke starts to smile when he spots Yutaka. Pauses when he spots Sho. At least, that's what he assumes. It doesn't make much sense, after all, that Yutaka would give Daisuke pause.

Once upon a time, the reverse would have been unthinkable as well. 

"Hey," says Daisuke. He looks from Sho to Yutaka. "You didn't have to wait for me. Sorry."

"I deserve someone beautiful to escort me home," Yutaka quips. He extends one hand imperiously, and Daisuke takes it with matching solemnity — before breaking into giggles less than two seconds into the playacting.

Sho finds himself grinning as well. There's always been something ridiculous about the fact of Yutaka, a happiness that's never known anxiety or self-consciousness. And it's not the first time, either, that he's had this particular thought: Daisuke deserves a friend like Yutaka.

Daisuke looks almost like his old self just then, lit by soft lamplight, shadows blurring, laughter unstrained and someone who cares about him by his side. 

Yutaka has as much right to be that person as any of them, he supposes.

He nearly jumps when someone touches his shoulder. 

"Hey," says Kenta; Sho didn't even notice him walking over. Kenta's hand slips down to curl around his elbow. And that's new. Kenta turns to Yutaka and Daisuke. "Shoutarou and Seiya already left?"

"Yeah, just now." Yutaka glances in the direction they'd disappeared off to. "Ten years gone, and those two are still the same as ever. Almost makes me feel young again."

"What happened to aging backwards, Kobayashi-san?" Sho asks.

"The stories we tell ourselves," is all Yutaka says, still smiling that maddeningly guileless smile. "Well, this is where we say good night. It was good seeing you both. Don't be a stranger, hmm?"

"Same to you," Sho replies. Daisuke is still hovering quietly at Yutaka's shoulder — not anxious, exactly, but not at ease, either. Like an extra that no one's remembered to direct. He adds, "Both of you."

Daisuke smiles at that. "Yeah. It was really good to see everyone."

"We'll see you around, Daisuke," says Kenta. Then to Sho, "Ready to go home?"

Sho nods. Yutaka and Daisuke are heading in the opposite direction. The last glimpse he catches, before Kenta leads them away, is Yutaka squeezing Daisuke's hand, as if in reassurance. Of what, he doesn't know.

Kenta doesn't let go of his arm until they come to a busy intersection, headlights and shop fronts illuminating the pedestrians hurrying by. 

On the train, Sho touches the inside of his sleeve and misses the warmth.

 

* * *

 

Here's the thing: Jinnai Sho is thirty-two years old, a college graduate with a stable job, a modest apartment of his own, and a boyfriend who's more than happy to let said apartment go unused while Sho spends most of his time at Kenta's place instead.

He has friends who know him well enough not to expect timely responses on any attempts at communication, be it via text or email, even though at work Sho is infamous for being prompt to a fault. Kenta sometimes says that he's liable to work himself into an early grave, but they both know Sho would sooner sacrifice everything he has for his friends — or family — if ever they asked. And they know him; they never ask.

Today, Sho wakes up to someone else's alarm. And if it's inconvenient, it's also proof that he's not alone. Kenta kisses him good morning and then goodbye, with a promise of _see you tonight_ , whenever that might be — and this, too, is less than ideal but no less worthwhile.

There are plenty of people who don't know what to do with him, and plenty more who only know him from idle gossip as that guy who let a coworker break his heart way back when and never quite recovered. Those people don't know him. Or, rather, they don't know him anymore.

Today, he kisses Kenta good morning and then goodbye. He goes to work. And life, thus begun, goes on.

 

* * *

 

"— _you're_ the one who just saw him. Why are you asking _me_?"

"Goodness, is Shison-sama admitting to a _gap_ in his omniscient knowledge of all sultry show-biz gossip? Say it ain't so. Oh, I feel the vapors coming on. Pass me my smelling salts—"

"I'm leaving."

"Abandon me not in my hour of need!"

"Tell someone who actually gives a sh— Oh, hey. Jinnai."

Sho inclines his head to Shison, who's just rounded the corner and who, for whatever reason, is wearing giant sunglasses. Despite being indoors, in a decidedly windowless stretch of office. The sunglasses do nothing to disguise the irritation written all over his face and soaking his voice.

Behind him, Shoutarou shifts gears from fainting to fiendish. "Look who it is! Don't tell me you're actually taking a lunch break? It's becoming a bad habit."

"Yeah," Sho deadpans, "I'm a well-known slacker around here."

"I'm heading out myself," Shison says pointedly. "Love to chat, but I'm already late. See you around."

"Talk when you get back!" Shoutarou calls after him. Shison's dignified retreat turns into a scurry. 

Sho raises his eyebrows at Shoutarou and gets a blatantly obnoxious grin for his trouble.

"You know that's just how Junjun shows his love." Shoutarou falls into step beside him, though that takes him back the way he'd come with Shison. "One of the few reasons why Kikuchi isn't actually as pathetic as he seems at first glance."

"Doubt he'd appreciate hearing that," Sho remarks. "Either part of that."

Shoutarou snorts. "He doesn't appreciate most things. And it's always people like that who already have everything. Because life, I guess."

A beat.

"You feeling all right?"

"No worse than usual," says Shoutarou, and Sho's known him long enough to hear it as the bald-faced lie that it is. Conversely, Shoutarou's also known _him_ long enough to trust that he won't press. 

It's something that he's often taken for granted, Sho thinks. For all his faults, old and new and never-to-be-outgrown, Shoutarou is as loyal as they come. And Sho was in the industry long enough to know how rare a friend like that can be.

He checks the time. "I actually was gonna grab a quick lunch. Want to come with?"

The elevator is only a couple floors above. Sho calls it. He glances around when there's no response to his question, and sees Shoutarou staring at him. He raises an eyebrow. Shoutarou visibly snaps himself out of it.

"Yeah, sure," says Shoutarou, just a tad too quickly. He pauses. Then, "Are _you_ feeling all right?"

"I feel what I feel."

"I didn't mean existentially."

"Neither did I."

Shoutarou rolls his eyes. The elevator dings. Sho steps through, and Shoutarou hops in beside him as if afraid he'll suddenly change his mind. As if the speed of the elevator would've allowed that.

"Where are we going for lunch?" Shoutarou asks, with an air of someone who'd be bouncing on his feet if it weren't so incongruous with his new image. He grins at Sho, too sharp to be gleeful, too happy to be anything else. "And are you paying?"

"Anything over ¥800 and you're on your own."

Shoutarou makes a tsk'ing sound. "Stingy. And here I thought grandpas were supposed to dote on the children."

"Since when am I your grandpa?"

"Age happens to the best of us."

"Yeah. You'll be thirty before you realize it."

"I don't look a day over eighteen and you know it."

"Apparently. I'm surrounded by people who are aging backwards." They exit the elevator, Shoutarou seeming content alongside him for now. "Is that why you all keep me around? For comparison?"

"We're certainly not keeping you around for your stellar conversation. I've heard you also have value as eye candy, but hey, there's no accounting for taste."

"Some people happen to be into this."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Shoutarou's tone isn't sarcastic, but it isn't entirely pleasant, either. Sho nearly opens his mouth to ask what he meant; Shoutarou adds, "I'm still getting tons of comments and tweets from your fans asking if I've seen you and if you're still alive. I considered answering yes and no — in that order — but apparently that's in poor taste, according to my manager."

"She has a point."

"Fear not, Sho-chan," says Shoutarou in his most gallant voice. "I would never spread falsehood about you."

"However shall I repay your kindness?"

"You're buying me lunch, for starters." Shoutarou takes a moment to notice their surroundings. "Whoa, wait, where are we going?"

"I only have half an hour." Sho walks into the convenience store, ignoring Shoutarou's half-hearted protest. "Stop complaining. I'm buying you lunch."

Shoutarou gets himself a snack and a drink in addition to actual food. Sho pays for it anyway, then lets Shoutarou drag him outside to eat on a sunny bench far away enough from the office building that it almost feels like leisure.

"Can't believe Touya-san has you on such a short leash," says Shoutarou. He sips his Ponta as ponderously as he might a pretentious glass of whiskey. "You work like fourteen-hour days anyway. An extra couple minutes for lunch is hardly gonna put a dent in your productivity."

"Touya-san doesn't micromanage," Sho says out of loyalty. Anyway, it's true enough. "I just prefer to keep busy."

"Wouldn't kill you to spend some time with your friends," Shoutarou says. There's a pause. "Or coworkers. Take Sakamoto to lunch sometime. He looks like someone who needs to get out more."

"We don't really have that kind of relationship."

"It's not like _lunch_ is code for _quickie_ or anything." Shoutarou laughs as Sho nearly chokes on a bite of food. "Not around here anyway. Though, gotta say—"

"Please don't." 

"Buying me lunch twice in one week," Shoutarou continues blithely. "We have to stop sneaking off like this, Jinnai-san, or people will talk."

Sho gets his coughing under control, accepts the drink that Shoutarou offers him. The soda is lukewarm and fizzes unpleasantly in his throat. It occurs to Sho that, maybe, he is getting old. 

"But seriously," Shoutaoru says next. "You never hang out with Sakamoto? Or that assistant, what's her name — Fujiwara-san? She seems nice."

"You only like her because she always brings snacks."

"The way to a man's heart. That, and very good alcohol." 

"You're an expensive date, aren't you?" 

"I prefer 'high-end'." 

Shoutarou grins at his snort. And there's nothing meanspirited in it, either, just something almost like delight, that he managed to make Sho laugh. It's been so long since Shoutarou had to actively _try_ — to prove that he's old enough to be taken seriously, as trusted and relatable as any other friend — that Sho's almost forgotten the feeling.

He shakes his head to himself, puts away his empty lunch container. "Can't imagine having this conversation with Sakamoto."

"Yeah? Guess he kinda is a stick in the mud."

"No, he's not. Well. He might be." Sho shrugs at Shoutarou's raised eyebrow. "I don't know, really. I don't know him all that well. And it's not like Sakamoto knows much about me, either."

A small frown creases Shoutarou's forehead. "But you work with them," says Shoutarou, slowly, like what Sho just said is incomprehensible. 

In his previous career, it would have been. And maybe to Shoutarou, it is and always will be. Sho refuses to miss something he chose to give up. 

"We don't hang out on weekends or do sleepovers or anything," Sho says, going for dry and casual and more or less hitting the note he intended. "We share an office. It's just work. Speaking of which." He checks the time. "I really should head back."

Shoutarou picks up his things and follows without further prompting. 

They're halfway back to the office before Shoutarou asks, "Do you miss it?"

"What?"

"Hanging out and stuff."

"I still hang out with people," Sho says instead. "I don't need my coworkers to be my best friends."

Shoutarou remains quiet the rest of the way back. Sho nearly adds, _Though I do miss that part._ Or at least, _Sometimes._

But he gave that up, the too-close-for-comfort intimacy of theater and the dysfunction inherent to any group of people chasing the dream, clinging to each other as much as to an elusive hope called _someday_. There's no need for that kind of thing, now that he's standing on his own two feet on solid ground. 

But maybe that's why, Sho thinks. The sterile courtesy of the upstairs office is so incongruous with his memories of Shoutarou — sixteen and irrepressible, twenty and infallible, twenty-two and too close to be anything but family — and maybe that's why, in the end, they'll never have a truly professional relationship.

 

* * *

 

He's in the middle of proofreading a powerpoint for Sakamoto when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen without thinking. The text reads:

_Really nice seeing you yesterday. Hope work's going well. I'm heading to the studio rn, but let's get coffee sometime if you're free? :)_

 

* * *

 

It's past ten when he hears the key in the lock, a pause when the door opens to a well-lit apartment and steam rising from the rice cooker. Sho closes his laptop.

"Welcome home."

"Thank god." Kenta drops down on the sofa beside him with a groan. "I never used to notice how long twelve, fourteen-hour days can be."

"Pretty sure they've always been twelve to fourteen hours long."

"I was younger."

Sho presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Have you eaten?"

It's not much, but it's still hot, and Kenta smiles at him from across the table. Tired and kind — always kind — blessings as small and unassuming as the fact of home, and food, and getting by.

He shouldn't take it for granted. "Last Tokyo performance is Sunday, right?"

"Mm." Kenta picks at a bit of rice in his bowl. "Osaka run starts on Friday, but we're heading out Thursday morning for some promo events."

"You have three days before then. That's not bad."

"Yeah. It's more vacation time than you've had in a year, anyway."

"I was thinking of taking Wednesday off." 

Kenta blinks. Looks up slowly, like he's afraid of making any sudden moves. "What?"

"I could put in some extra hours this week, take next Wednesday off. Then we could — I don't know. Have a day to ourselves. Go on a date." Sho finds himself smiling at the look on Kenta's face. "I've got a reputation to maintain here, you know."

"As what? A workaholic?"

"As a good boyfriend."

"And people say romance is dead." Kenta's tone is dry, but there's a hint of color in his cheeks. It's absurd, really, that they've been practically living out of each other's pockets for the last however many years, and yet this — something as simple as this — can still make him happy. 

"Anyway," Kenta continues, "aren't you already overworked? Don't tell me you're planning to go in over the weekend, too."

"Just tomorrow and Friday. We've got a couple big deadlines coming up so there's plenty of work." Sho starts clearing the table, stacking the empty plates to take to the sink. "I'll find something else to do on Saturday."

"Or you could actually sleep for once." Kenta follows with the rest of the plates.

"Or that." 

Sho turns on the faucet. He does the dishes while Kenta puts away the leftovers, brings over the empty pots to be washed as well. The running water is loud enough that they say nothing until Sho turns it off. Kenta hands him a kitchen towel.

"What'd you have in mind," Kenta asks, "for Wednesday?"

Sho dries his hands. "I was going to ask you." He hangs up the towel. "It's your six-month anniversary, too."

"That's not on Wednesday. And it's still not a real anniversary."

"Anywhere you want to go?"

Kenta fiddles with the dishes drying on the rack. "I can think of at least a dozen places people keep insisting I need to go to, but honestly? I kind of just want to spend the day at home." A fleeting smile, almost shy. "Like you said — have some time to ourselves."

"I can work with that." He takes Kenta's hand; there's a smudge of water on his fingertips, skin warm against his own. "Breakfast in bed. Watch a movie or something. Wouldn't even have to get out of bed, honestly. I'm sure we can find things to do that don't require either getting up or getting dressed—"

"Shut up," says Kenta, smiling almost too hard to manage even that much. "What's gotten into you all of a sudden?"

Sho tugs him closer. "Just trying to do right by you."

"Implying you haven't been?"

"You never ask."

"Seems selfish to," Kenta says, after a pause, "when I already got everything I wanted."

And that much is obvious, the way he looks at Sho — the way he sounds so certain yet disbelieving, even now — the way Kenta's fingers tighten ever so slightly to rumple the fabric of his shirt; afraid to grasp, more afraid to let go. 

_I'm the selfish one,_ Sho thinks and can't bring himself to say. 

He kisses Kenta instead, and Kenta lets him, simple and content. And he still doesn't know the word for it, really, but maybe even _love_ can grow and soften — like forgiveness — or an ordinary sort of peace.

 

* * *

 

Sakamoto has just left the office, with a courteous _good night_ and _don't stay too late_ , when Sho's phone buzzes — and doesn't stop buzzing for the next five minutes.

The subject line of the group message reads, _GATHER UP!!!! Friends don't let friends miss out on Friendiversary 2k20!!!_

It's unnecessarily long, and so is the opening message from Tera, which reads more like a constitutional declaration than an invite to half a dozen old friends to get dinner the week after next. Sho scrolls through the _whereas_ 's and _whereby_ 's and inside jokes he only half remembers. He scrolls past the replies from Jouji, who appears to be testing out a new set of chat stickers. He reads commentary and suggestions from Kishitaku and Kensho, makes a note of the exhortations for Seiya to _please_ respond this time, and preferably sooner than five minutes before they'd agreed to meet up.

Kenta's number is also listed among the recipients of the group message. Sho imagines him checking his phone, during intermission, and rolling his eyes at the _47 new messages_ alert.

Sho smiles to himself and goes back to work. It's quarter to seven. Probably enough time to get through the rest of these reimbursement forms before the ramen stand down the street closes. 

His phone buzzes periodically with new messages, the only sound other than his own typing and the whisper of paper as he flips through the files to cross-check names and numbers and dates. It's tedious, but it's not difficult. Sakamoto probably thinks he's an idiot for volunteering to do it. But even Sakamoto can't argue that Sho gets through them much quicker than he does.

Besides, he promised Kenta that he'd take next Wednesday off.

He jumps when someone knocks at the door. 

"Figured I'd find you here." 

Shoutarou lets the door swing shut behind him. He looks around the empty, half-lit office, and flicks on the rest of the lights. The contrast to his desk lamp makes Sho blink. He puts aside the form he'd been looking at.

"What are you doing here?" he asks as Shoutarou makes his way around the desks toward him. "It's—" He checks the time. Frowns. "It's nearly nine. Don't you have a show tonight?"

"Nope. Special event at the theater. Here." Shoutarou plunks a plastic bag down on his desk. At Sho's nonplussed look, he adds, "It's food. You know, that thing you need to eat to stay alive?"

"You brought me dinner?"

"I know, I know. I'm just too kind." Shoutarou helps himself to an empty chair and rummages through the shopping bag. He produces two convenience store bentos. "No need to fall over yourself thanking me or anything."

Sho takes the bento — and the soda — that Shoutarou hands him. Shoutarou tosses a pair of chopsticks at him. Sho barely catches it, with his hands already full. 

He puts the soda down. 

"Did I forget something?" he asks slowly. "Were we supposed to get dinner?"

"No." Shoutarou splits his chopsticks straight down the middle. "But you need to eat."

Sho watches him dig into his own food with relish. The soda cans drip condensation on his desk. Sho absently moves them away from his laptop, shuffles the pile of forms he'd been going through — just a couple left, maybe forty, fifty minutes tops...

Shoutarou kicks him. 

Sho jumps — more at the shock than any actual pain — and finds Shoutarou pointing at his untouched bento. 

"Seriously. Eat."

"I was going to get food later."

Shoutarou rolls his eyes and opens his bento for him. "If you were planning to get ramen, the place closed like an hour ago. Anyway, I didn't hear you complaining about convenience store food yesterday."

"That's because I only had thirty minutes."

The way Shoutarou's watching him is a little unnerving. Sho starts in on his food.

"I lost track of time," he adds, after the first couple of bites. He's not sure why he feels the need to explain himself. 

Shoutarou just shrugs. "Like I said, I figured. Kenta mentioned you were putting in extra time on top of your already insane hours, which — knowing you — means you're working through lunch and dinner and probably sleep, too."

"Kenta asked you to check in on me?"

"Kenta trusts you to be an adult."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he loves you, but I _know_ you," says Shoutarou. "Plus, I work in the same building, and it's lot easier for me to drop by than for him to run out during intermission and make sure you're not starving to death."

"No need to be dramatic."

"Can't help it. It's my job."

 _Not to look after me, it's not,_ Sho doesn't say. 

"Anyway," Shoutarou continues, "I was in the area. It was either this or get dragged off to drinks with Shihou and his toolbag of a boyfriend who, honestly, isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer even when stone-cold sober. You didn't hear that from me. And if anyone asks, you're my alibi."

"Of course. You couldn't go make sarcastic comments at your friend because you were too busy taking care of an ailing elder."

"Pious child that I am." Shoutarou grins at him.

Sho tries and fails to suppress a snort. "Guess in a couple years I'll be demanding why you don't call home more often, and when I can expect to hold my grandbabies."

"I promise to visit on weekends," Shoutarou intones. "Whenever we're both free."

There's something a little too fragile to be sarcasm, in the way he says the last part. Sho drinks his soda and wonders when it became strange for Shoutarou to drop in on him uninvited. Invitations are for people who don't already belong.

"We should hang out more," he says. It doesn't escape him, that Shoutarou's smug grin is papering over something almost like hope. He adds, "Even if people talk."

A pause. 

Shoutarou solemnly covers Sho's hand with his own. 

"Let them talk." 

They stare at each other, the pause long and somber… Until Sho snorts, can't help it, as the snort becomes a snicker, and a second later Shoutarou's laughing as well.

"Stay in character, damn you!"

"I couldn't— Your _face_." 

He laughs harder at the affronted look Shoutarou gives him.

"Well," says Shoutarou, moments — or maybe minutes — later. "Glad my face could provide such amusement." He stuffs his empty bento into the shopping bag. Checks his phone. "Damn. I should probably stop by and say hi to Shihou and Toolbag-kun. He's about ready to launch into the 'friends support each other in their choices' speech."

"Go easy on him."

" _He's_ the one who's easy. I should introduce him to Kikuchi. Between the pair of them—"

"Get out of here," Sho tells him, that fondness and exasperation as comfortable as an old, forgotten pair of shoes. "Anyway, I'm sure Kikuchi knows how to make friends on his own."

"Oh, yeah," Shoutarou agrees, standing up and gathering his things. "He's got such good _adult_ friends these days, who even needs a boyfriend? Not Shison Jun, certainly."

Sho feels his eyebrows go up. "Come again?"

Shoutarou throws him a jaunty salute over his shoulder. "Tell you over lunch sometime!"

The door swings shut behind him. 

Sho shakes his head to himself. Finds that he's smiling, even with the office suddenly deathly still with only one person there. At least all the lights are on. He picks up the rest of the wrappers and soda cans Shoutarou left on his desk. 

He doesn't have much left to do. Maybe another forty-five minutes, an hour at most. His phone buzzes — and, right, he should also respond to Tera. 

When he looks at his messages, however, the latest ones are from Shoutarou.

_If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?_

_If a Kikuchi drops a love ballad and Shison doesn't hear it, does it still cause death by secondhand embarrassment?_

And, a couple minutes after the first two,

_SHIHOU TRIED TO PLAY FOOTSIE W/ BF AND GOT ME INSTEAD I FEEL UNCLEAN_

Sho writes back, _Wear socks next time_ , and tabs over to check on his other messages. As expected, there's nearly a hundred new messages in the friendiversary group chat. 

There's also a separate message from Kishitaku: _Finally figured out why Tera's losin his shit abt this. Congrats bro. Tell Kenta for me too._

 _Thanks,_ Sho writes back, and, _Will do._

There's a couple other messages he never replied to — from his sister (who doesn't care), from his mother (who does care), from Kenta (who’ll end up asking him in person, later) — and, timestamped Wednesday afternoon — from Daisuke.

 _Really nice seeing you yesterday,_ it begins, and Sho already knows what the rest says because he's read it a couple times. 

Maybe he's overthinking it. His phone buzzes, even now, more incoming texts from Jouji or Kensho or whoever it is on the group chat. Because this is what friends do: text each other and talk about nothing and meet up when they can and make do when they can't.

He has Kenta. He knows the difference. There's no reason he shouldn't text back, 

_Yeah you too. Work goes. As it's wont to do. It's better when you're doing what you want to be doing, but hey. How's it going with your dance studio?_

And if that's too honest, it's also true. Like he told Shoutarou, he can't imagine having this kind of relationship with Sakamoto or Fujiwara or anyone else who works in the upstairs office. It's not intolerable, because it's what he chose; but it is what it is.

Daisuke is practicing at an amateur dance studio, starting from zero, despite having already paid his dues years and years ago. This used to be what he did for a living. It's what he should have been doing. If he hadn't left. If things had been different. 

But you make do. You have to.

He puts his phone screen-down on the desk, and turns back to tackle the rest of those reimbursement forms. 

Half an hour later, he's just filed the last one when his phone buzzes. 

The text from Daisuke reads: _It's going well. I'm planning on going for auditions soon. There's a choreographer who might be willing to work with me to prep something, fingers crossed._

No need, Sho thinks to himself; luck is for people who can't make it on their own.

He puts away the files, shoots an email to Touya-san, and gathers up his things. A quick round to make sure all the lights are off. He locks the office door behind him.

There's a distinct lack of capslock among his new messages. He wonders if Shoutarou's actually having fun with his friends.

Outside, the night is warm with summer. He loosens his tie. It's hardly the first time he's gone home in the full dark, and it won't be the last. But after tomorrow — after he's put in his time — the weekend, and next week, should be his. 

He could do some shopping. Buy something for Kenta.

He writes back,

_You'll be great I'm sure, like always_  
_I'll be in the area Saturday if you still want to get that coffee and tell me about it_

He shrugs off his suit jacket, arms already sticky with sweat. He wipes his palms on his trousers. His phone buzzes.

_I'll be at the studio in the AM, but how about noonish?_

_Yeah,_ he types, and something makes him stop. He thinks about it, and can't think why it should. He has nothing planned for Saturday. He types out the rest of the text.

_Yeah sounds good_

 

* * *

 

"I'll be out of the office on Wednesday. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I talked to Touya-san, and he asked me to ask you — that is, if you have the bandwidth — to cover for me? If anything comes up. I took care of most things, and whatever else is left I can deal with on Monday or Tuesday."

"Well. I have a pretty full schedule, but I suppose—"

"The company won't fall apart because you took a personal day, Jinnai-kun." Fujiwara gives him a smile, ignoring Sakamoto's disgruntled look at being talked over.

"I really am sorry for any inconvenience," Sho says again.

Sakamoto's sigh turns into a cough when Fujiwara elbows him. She covers her sudden movement by busily shuffling the folders she's holding. If Sho hadn't been looking for it — hadn't had his eye well-trained by years of Shoutarou pulling that kind of thing — he would've completely missed it.

"Don't worry about it," Sakamoto says with no inflection whatsoever. "I got you covered."

"Enjoy your day off," Fujiwara adds. She gives him a knowing smile — except that's ridiculous; these people aren't his friends; what would they know? — and disappears into Touya-san's office.

Sakamoto adjusts his glasses, clears his throat in a manner too ostentatious for a half-empty office, and goes back to his work.

Sho sits down at his own desk. 

All told, it's been a slow Friday. Time isn't crawling so much as pulling over for a bit while it decides whether this is the right road to take to get to the weekend. Which is a stupid metaphor. It's possible he didn't get enough sleep. Hasn't gotten enough sleep, really, in months. Maybe years. But he's been told he has a tendency to dramatize. 

It's not like Kenta's alarm has been waking him up at ungodly hours of the morning for the past seven years.

He'd actually fallen back asleep for an hour or so, this morning. Which means he hasn't seen Kenta since last night — if getting into bed in the dark even counts as _seeing_ — but Kenta would be the first to say that some days are just like that, when you share enough of your life with someone else. Statistically speaking. It's normal.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes.

_There's a cute bookstore near the studio I always walk past, think it's new… Called Black Sheep or something. Have you been there?_

The bookstore in question is actually called Black Ship, for reasons that Sho has never quite figured out. Nor does he know why Daisuke constantly misremembers the names of shops he's been to — or, in this case, walks past every day. Multiple times a day. He's certainly at the studio often enough. 

He texts back, _I've heard of it. I can meet you there._

Daisuke responds, _Okay! See you there at 1_

He nearly writes back again — just to say _okay_ — except that's a bit unnecessary, isn't it? He'll be there. He'll get there early and do some shopping, maybe have lunch. Or breakfast.

Probably not breakfast. Kenta's got an early start time, as usual. Sho thinks about telling him, _Hey so I'm meeting up with Daisuke tomorrow_ — except what would be the point of that? He's told Kenta before: he has nothing to worry about. And Kenta has told him, too: it's only a big deal because he's making it so.

He pockets his phone. 

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, he wakes up before Kenta's alarm even goes off. He makes breakfast, and Kenta stops for a cup of tea — a smile, a kiss — before heading out the door. 

It's not a big deal. It's Saturday, and he has the day to himself.

He puts in his contacts; wearing his glasses makes him feel like he should be at work. Besides, it's sunny enough to merit a pair of aviators. Shoutarou thinks that they make him look like a dad trying to recapture his glory days; Sho thinks he'd rather protect what remains of his vision while he still can.

He's already gotten on the train before he realizes he forgot to bring a case for his sunglasses. He hooks them on the collar of his t-shirt instead. 

It's still early enough that he thinks about wandering around for a bit. He's never actually noticed a dance studio in this area. Then again, it's been a long time since he cared to look for things like that. He also doesn't remember there being a smoothie bar next to the bookstore.

After the third time he's circled the block, passing the same part-timer handing out flyers in front of the smoothie bar, Sho ducks inside. The part-timer's starting to recognize him. 

He's waiting for his drink — orange carrot something something — when he gets a text: _Hey sorry, I'm on my way. Be at the bookstore soon._

 _Also on my way,_ he writes back. It's still a couple minutes before 1:00. He picks up his order at the counter and heads outside.

He runs into Daisuke at the door. Literally: Daisuke's looking at his phone, and if Sho hadn't already opened said door, even odds that Daisuke would've walked right into it.

As it is, Daisuke all but walks right into him. 

"Oh, excuse me—!"

"No worries," he says, and the way Daisuke jumps like a startled cat is both entirely fitting and wholly unfamiliar. As is the way it morphs into something a little too anxious for someone who's known him ten years. Sho puts on a politely inquiring look and adds, "Say, have I seen you somewhere before?"

"Probably on TV," Daisuke says, easy, reflexive. The banter is belied by a cautious smile. "Hey, um. I thought you said you were still on your way."

"I'm not at the bookstore yet."

"It's right next door."

"Did you walk into the wrong store?"

"Stop making fun of my sense of direction," Daisuke laughs. And there's nothing hesitant about that sound.

Sho nods toward the register. "If you wanted to get anything."

"No, it's fine. I don't actually—" Daisuke notices the cup he's holding. "Oh. You like this place, too?"

"Never been here before." Sho tries a sip of his pureed whatever-it-is. It tastes like weirdly fibrous juice. He swallows it. Clears his throat. "It's. Yeah. You come here a lot?"

Daisuke is watching his face a little too intently. "Honestly? Utsumi drags me here." A slight pause. "I'm not really a fan of overpriced juice."

"Thank god," Sho mutters. "This is ¥600 I'm never getting back." He turns to chuck his cup into the trash — notices the part-timer outside looking at him through the window. He gestures toward the door instead. "Shall we go?"

Daisuke's smiling as he follows Sho outside. "There's a trash can just up the block," Daisuke says in a low voice as they walk away. "That guy with the flyers? I swear he gives me a judgmental look every time I go in with Utsumi and get hot tea instead."

Sho doesn't quite manage to hold back a snort. They're probably too far away for the flyer guy to hear anyway. "There's not a lot of nutritional value in tea. I'm sure he's just concerned for your well-being."

"Oh, no, I'm also concerned for my well-being." Daisuke glances over his shoulder. "One time, I made Utsumi give me his empty smoothie cup when we were walking out."

Sho can't help but laugh at that, which makes Daisuke grin in turn. He offers the full smoothie cup still in his hand. "All yours if you want it."

"I'm good," says Daisuke. And he does — seem good. Better than the first time they ran into each other, in the theater, and better even than Tuesday at the bar. Smiling under a summer blue sky, hair swept back in a messy ponytail like he'd just run here from dance practice, he looks almost as if he'd never left.

Sho takes another sip of his smoothie, unthinking. 

Daisuke doesn't actually laugh at the look on his face, but it's probably a near thing. "You seem to like it even less than I do." He points to a trash can they just passed, and Sho throws the cup away.

"You don't want to go back to the bookstore?" At Daisuke's quizzical look, Sho adds, "It's right next to the smoothie place. That flyer guy's probably still outside."

"I don't even read that much," Daisuke says quickly. "Or ever, honestly. Let's go somewhere else."

 

* * *

 

"Not even Yutaka would wear that."

Daisuke examines the ludicrously fitted shirt he's holding one last time, before putting it back on the rack. "I don't know. It'd look good on him."

"That's the annoying part." Sho peers at a display of mannequin heads. The hats they're wearing look like something out of a children's book. Possibly about historical figures. 

He glances over and finds Daisuke looking at a pair of gloves. With foxes on them. "Those are cute."

"They are," Daisuke agrees. He puts the gloves back. "But it's summer."

"Yeah, and you're always cold."

He doesn't need the pause that follows to realize maybe he shouldn't have said that. 

Daisuke plucks a hideous hat off a nearby mannequin and tries that on instead. "What do you think?"

"Yutaka approved."

"Shut up," Daisuke laughs. He peers into the mirror once more before taking the hat off, puts that back as well. "Yutaka's out of town this week, anyway, so he can't approve anything."

"Out of town for work?"

Daisuke makes a humming sound. "Something like that."

"I'm guessing I don't want to know?"

"That's what I guessed, too."

And that, at least, is a shared in-joke they can still both laugh at. 

"Take a picture and send it to him," Sho suggests. "I bet you he loves it."

"My phone camera isn't great." Daisuke takes out his phone anyway.

Sho starts to say, _Here, use mine_ — before thinking better of it. Also, he has a dozen new messages that he hasn't noticed. He scrolls through them while Daisuke takes a selfie with the hat.

The first three are from Tera:

_Heyyyyy so heads up literally everyone's gonna be at the Thing next week_  
_Also if you wanna invite other people just lemme know_  
_As they say it's your special day!_

The next six are from Shoutarou:

_I CAN'T BELIEVE U DIDN'T INVITE ME TO THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY!!_

Which would explain Tera's messages. Sho reads on:

_I can only assume gross oversight on your part_  
_And/or you have been spending way too much time at the office_  
_And/or not enough time thinking about your dearly beloved who should be gathered there to celebrate your special day_  
_BUT FEAR NOT I have contacted master of ceremonies Tera-san Takeshi_  
_Btw can I give the toast_

It's so obnoxiously in character that it's almost endearing. It's also something that Shoutarou would have been more likely to do four years ago — not that he could have, considering — but the more things change.

He shoots off a quick message to Tera, and writes back to Shoutarou: _First of all it's not an anniversary and second don't you have filming that day?_

"Who're you texting?" Daisuke asks from right next to him.

Sho glances up — realizes he's just putting the hat back — sends the text and pockets his phone. "It's nothing. Just Shoutarou. You know how he is."

The hesitation is so small, Sho would've missed it if he weren't looking for it. Daisuke smiles at the hat. "Yeah. He's just like I remember."

And there are the safe things that they can talk about, Sho knows. Things like smoothies and dance practice and Yutaka's questionable fashion choices. They've gotten through most of the afternoon talking about things like that, and it's been — fun. Easy, almost. Everything else aside, there was a reason why they used to hang out together all the time. 

But shopping and dumb jokes have nothing to do with the way Daisuke goes quiet, for just a second, at the mention of Shoutarou. And it was so long ago as to be almost laughable now, but still: he remembers how Shoutarou used to call Daisuke _Dai-chan_.

He asks, "Is everything all right between you two?"

"What? No. Of course. Why?"

"Kinda seems like you can't stand each other."

"No. It's fine. It's nothing." Daisuke visibly stops himself. He picks up a hideous knitted scarf and examines the care instructions. "I guess we're just not as close as we used to be. But that's expected. It's been a long time."

He could drop the subject. Maybe he even should drop the subject. It's a treacherous line of conversation, and Daisuke sounds unhappier with every word — but that's exactly why. He thinks about the way Shoutarou said _Hirose Daisuke_ , backstage at the theater, and he remembers Yutaka once yelling at him, _It was your fault, too._

"Five years," says Sho, "and the kid hasn't changed one bit."

"He seems to have grown up."

"Grown into his ideal self, maybe, but I don't know about grown up." He takes the ugly scarf away from Daisuke. "Please don't buy that. Yutaka would have a fit. Along with anyone else who had to look at it."

"It's not that bad."

"It's chartreuse."

"It's what?"

"I'm just saying," Sho continues, "Shoutarou has a one-sided feud with half the company, and probably half the people he's ever worked with. Put another way: he's a bit of a dick. And you'll be happier if you just accept that. He doesn't respond to other people's opinions of him anyway. Which is ironic, considering the business he's in."

He puts the scarf back on the mannequin. It looks even worse with the hat it's paired with.

Daisuke says, finally, "I thought you two were friends."

"We are. Doesn't mean we agree on everything."

It's only fact — much as he might protest otherwise, Shoutarou does sometimes get things wrong — but Daisuke gives him a look like Sho just said the last thing he expected to hear.

Daisuke looks away. He might be smiling, if faintly. "I guess it's healthy to disagree about some things."

"A lot of things. He'd probably tell me to get that hat." Sho pauses to imagine the thing on his head. "Even Yutaka wouldn't approve." 

"Actually," says Daisuke. He's looking at his phone. Definitely smiling now. "Yutaka says — and I quote — _trendsetter alert_."

"Tell Kobayashi-san that if my mother buys this hat, I'm blaming him."

"He's joking. I think."

"Well, I'm not."

Daisuke laughs, a quick bitten-off sound. "I'll let him know."

"Does he really think the hat looks good on you?" Sho asks, because seriously.

Daisuke shrugs. "I think he's just trying to get me to buy something. He's threatening to drag me on a shopping trip when he gets back. I keep telling him I don't really need new things — maybe a new pair of shoes, but."

"There's shoes at the back. What is it that the kids say? Treat yourself."

Daisuke shakes his head, but he follows Sho anyway through the rest of the menswear section. "I need some dance shoes, but they're — I don't know. Maybe when I get a real job. I don't really _need_ any of this right now. Though it's fun to look."

Right. He hadn't thought of that part. "The gloves were cute."

"They're ¥4,700."

"For a pair of gloves with foxes on them?"

"They're suede." 

A pause.

"They put foxes on _suede_?"

"Hey," says Daisuke, trying and not succeeding at hiding a grin. "They're _cute_."

"Now I don't even want to know how much everything else in here costs." He checks the price tag on a vest that catches his eye. "Actually, this one's reasonable. Maybe it's just a fox thing."

"A fox vest," Daisuke muses. "Is that a vest with foxes on it, or a vest that foxes can wear?"

"Cute either way, huh?" Sho takes the vest off the rack to examine it. 

"That would look good on you."

"I don't think I can pull off a fox vest."

"No, I meant that one." Daisuke touches the vest that he's holding. It's well-made, classy but unobtrusive. "You should get it."

"I don't really need it."

"Don't steal my line."

Sho smiles at that. "Needing something shouldn't be the only reason to want something. Or else the whole retail industry would collapse. I studied economics in college. I'd know."

"I worked in retail," Daisuke says, "and I agree."

"Since when did you work in retail?"

There's a long pause.

Daisuke says, "When I was away. I was — I helped out at my cousin's shop. So not really retail, I guess. But something like that." He turns away to look at another mannequin display.

It's the most that Sho has heard about what happened to him, after Daisuke left Tokyo. 

He considers asking, _Were you happy?_

He plucks a plain hat off one of the mannequins. "You should get this."

Daisuke takes the hat — glances at the price (which is reasonable, Sho knows, because he already checked) — and turns it over in his hands. "I think I already have something like it."

"So you know it'll look good."

"Probably." Daisuke smiles at him. "I'll get this if you get the vest."

Years ago, he would've said, _Deal_. Years ago, he would've picked out things far more outrageous than a tasteful fitted vest. Back then, they would have been shopping just for something to do, an excuse to try on ridiculous things while they talked about work and life and whatever else came to mind. 

Sho doesn't know how to tell Daisuke that he was thinking of getting the vest for Kenta.

He puts the the item back on the rack. "Nah. I mean, I bet you can get the same thing at half the stores on this street. They all look the same after a while."

"Yeah," says Daisuke, after just a second too long. He puts the hat back. "I mean, who needs fancy clothes anyway."

"Exactly. A trash bag would serve just as well."

"So _that's_ what all those baggy shirts you used to wear—"

"Hey," says Sho in protest, though Daisuke doesn't even get to the end of the line before he starts giggling at his own joke. "Those shirts were cool."

"No, of course," Daisuke manages, and somehow manages to add, "Hey, did anyone ever accidentally dump a smoothie on you because they mistook you for—"

"Okay, we're leaving." Sho heads for the door, and Daisuke follows, still laughing to himself. "All things considered, I wasn't that much of a disaster. Not compared to some other people."

"Oh, Yutaka would be the first to admit it." Daisuke coughs to disguise one last giggle. "Then again, I think he just enjoys being slightly outrageous."

"Sounds like him. When's he getting back anyway?"

"Tuesday," says Daisuke. "But not 'til pretty late. I'll probably go see his show on Wednesday. He said he'll make me some kind of cake. It sounded super fancy, but I didn't really understand half the words he said. I think it's, like, French baking—"

Sho blurts without thinking, "Isn't Wednesday your birthday?"

Daisuke blinks at him. 

And yeah — he really shouldn't have said that. 

Somehow, he finds his voice again and adds, "You said he's making a cake."

Daisuke looks away. “I think he was supposed to make a cake on his show anyway, so. He's just being nice. You know Yutaka."

"Knowing Yutaka, it'll probably be more like an art exhibit than a cake."

"Probably." Daisuke smiles at nothing in particular. "It'll be good, though."

"Yeah. Say hi to him for me."

"I will." A pause, and just as Sho thinks Daisuke is about to add something else — _You guys should hang out more,_ maybe — his phone buzzes; Daisuke glances at the screen. "Oh, shoot. I should be heading back to the studio. Ryuu said he had time today and I forgot— I didn't realize it was this late."

Sho checks the time as well. Nearly four. "Yeah, I should probably head home." He watches Daisuke send a series of quick texts. "Who's Ryuu?"

"Huh? Oh!" Daisuke pockets his phone. "Ryuu's a choreographer — the one who said he might be able to help me put together an audition piece." The hope in his voice is almost painful. "We're gonna start work on that today. With any luck..."

Sho tamps down the urge to say anything like, _You don't need luck._ "Hope it goes well. That's great."

"Yeah," says Daisuke, smiling like he doesn't know how not to, the way he used to before. "Yeah, I hope so, too."

 

* * *

 

He’s trying to find exact change when his phone goes off. “Sorry,” Sho mutters to the cashier, who patiently watches him nearly drop both phone and wallet as he tries to answer the call. He tucks the phone against his shoulder. “Hello?”

“Hey,” says Shoutarou. “Let’s get dinner.”

“Three times in a week?” Sho hands the money to the cashier.

“In some cultures, we’d be practically married. Bring Kenta with you. You’re at the theater, right? I can meet you guys at ten.”

“Heading there now. And we already have plans.” Sho smiles his thanks to the cashier, takes the flowers he just paid for and heads back out. The night is stifling warm, compared to the air conditioned shop. He loosens his tie. “Don’t you have a cast meeting tomorrow morning?”

“One, stop managing me. Two, it’s a cast meeting for _D-Live_ ,” Shoutarou says with more disdain than Sho is strictly comfortable hearing. “Nobody there who hasn’t already seen everybody else drunk, hungover, or doing the walk of shame—”

“Seriously?”

“Come on! Please? I have gossip.”

“I don’t want to know.” He can actually hear Shoutarou’s pout. Sho adds, “Let’s get dinner some other time. Come over to my place and I’ll cook or something.”

A pause. “You serious?”

“I’m always serious.” Sho checks the time. Five minutes to nine; it’s a twenty minute walk to the theater. “Make it next week, though. I don’t think our marriage would last.”

Shoutarou snorts at him. “Fine.” And, because he can’t leave well enough alone, “So. Hot date tonight?”

“I already told you, I’m heading to the theater—”

“I meant Kenta, jackass.” Shoutarou’s eye roll is also audible. “Go find your boyfriend and call me back when you’ve gotten some stress relief. Dinner next week! Don’t forget.”

With that, he hangs up. Sho holds the phone for a second longer, the sudden silence loud.

In retrospect, he’s not sure why he told Shoutarou about his plans to surprise Kenta at the theater, after the last Tokyo performance. Habit, probably. There was a time Shoutarou would not only have known, but been involved in planning the whole thing. 

Not that there was much to plan. Sho spent his Sunday morning running errands, tidying up an apartment that Kenta has been far too busy to spend much time thinking about. Around one, he went back to the store where he saw the vest yesterday, bought it, and went back to his own apartment — for the first time in weeks. Amazing how much dust can build up in that amount of time.

He’d meant to head out early and maybe try to get a ticket, see the play, but by the time he finished cleaning his apartment, it was already dark outside.

It’s well past nine when he finally gets to the theater.

It’s closer to ten before he finds a stagehand who recognizes him, lets him in, and helps him search the chaotic backstage corridors of harried staff and laughing, crying castmates. It’s all so familiar that — when he finally sees Kenta — out of costume but still in makeup, thanking a curly-haired someone who pulls him in for a quick hug — for one disorienting moment, Sho almost expects the curly-haired man to turn around and smile at him, too, like Yutaka used to do.

Except, of course, that man isn’t Yutaka. And Sho isn’t part of this. 

And then Kenta sees him — surprise flickering into confusion into happiness before giving way to that warm, crushing affection that Sho might have seen, years ago, but never recognized for what it was.

He waves. Kenta makes his excuses to his castmates and hurries over.

“Sho.” There’s a breathless hitch in his voice. “I— What are you doing here?”

“Bringing you these.” Sho hands over the flowers. “I’ve been told it’s a thing that people do.”

“Who, Shoutarou?” Kenta’s smiling, though, eyes a little red from lack of sleep or maybe pollen — maybe tears. 

“Congrats on a great run,” Sho tells him.

Kenta hugs him. “Thank you,” is all he says; Sho hears the rest. 

And it’s all familiar, maybe, but it’s not really the same. Not the people and the voices around him, not the way this hug lingers a split second too long, and when Kenta pulls away — he always does — there are flowers in his arms and mascara smudging the corner of his eye.

A voice says, “Izuka-san! Looks like we’re going for drinks after all. You want to come with?”

Kenta looks over his shoulder. “Oh. Um.” He glances back at Sho. Then back at the girl who’d asked the question. “No, I’m just gonna head home. But I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Bright and early,” the girl calls back.

“You should go,” Sho says, “if you want.”

“Nah.” Kenta smiles at him. “I’d rather just go home.”

It’s past eleven by the time they get back to Kenta’s place. Nearly midnight after they finish a late dinner, and Kenta shoos him out of the kitchen, insisting on at least doing the washing up since Sho had cooked and cleaned the rest of the apartment while he was gone.

It’s the least of what Kenta deserves, Sho thinks, but doesn’t argue.

On the coffee table, his phone buzzes with a new email. It reads:

_**Re: Birthday party**_  
_Yes we totally should!! What a great idea! It’s been so long since we did something like this, wow... Okay, working on it as we speak so just leave it to me! Daisuke is coming to my show on Wednesday so I’ll just pretend to drag him out to dinner after and you guys can meet us at the restaurant. I’ll invite everyone. You & Kenta are both free that night, right?_

Sho puts down his phone.

Through the kitchen door, he can hear Kenta humming to himself.

The clock reads 12:01.

“I just got an email from Yutaka,” Sho says. “He’s throwing a surprise birthday party for Daisuke. Do you want to go?”


	7. Intermission

_Six Months Ago_

"Congratulate me," Sho says. "As of today, I'm officially a has-been."

Kenta doesn't roll his eyes, which Sho appreciates, but neither does he offer any sympathy. They've known each other approximately a decade too long for it to be offensive. In a way, it's what Sho likes about him: facts are what they are, and Kenta doesn't pretend otherwise.

"I'm happy that you're happy," is all he says as they walk to the train station together. "Shoutarou's still flipping out about it, you know."

"Is that true, though?"

"What, you haven't talked to him since you made your dramatic announcement in November?"

"Not him. Me."

"Huh?"

"I meant, am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Happy." Sho sticks his hands his pockets. He probably should have worn gloves, but it would've ruined the line of his outfit. He probably shouldn't care so much anymore. "For that matter, are you?"

Kenta's giving him an odd look now. "Are you feeling all right?"

Sho thinks about answering _No_. He grins instead. "I'm retired, is what I am. Which is why I think you should buy me a beer."

"I'll buy you as many as you like, if you stop pitying yourself."

"Deal."

He lets Kenta pick the bar and he lets Kenta talk him into getting food along with the beer. He's vaguely grateful for the second part, by the time they're two or three drinks in and his reasons for having wanted said drink in the first place are becoming more than a bit vague as well.

They've known each other far too long, Sho finds himself thinking more than once. There's nothing new here. They talk often enough that Sho already knows about the new projects Kenta has coming up, and Kenta's already heard Sho complain about how woefully underprepared he is for his brand new career. Fat lot of good it's doing him, the college degree he'd finally finished over the last couple of years.

"You can always go back to acting if the desk job doesn't work out," Kenta says. "Heard some of the new VR studios aren't doing too badly, and they always need talent."

"That's because they're basically porn studios. But like, in 3D."

"Exactly. It won't be so different from what you're used to." Sho elbows him, and Kenta snickers. "That horror movie a couple years back? You spent almost half your screen time in your underwear."

"The director has an aesthetic that can be hard to understand."

"Yeah, no, I think that aesthetic's called 'creep'. But hey, whatever floats your boat."

"I resent that."

"No need to get your panties in a twist. Especially if that's all you're wearing." Kenta barely makes it to the last word before he starts laughing.

Sho rolls his eyes and orders another round.

Kenta picks up the tab, even though Sho had mostly been kidding. It's late by the time they finally leave. The cold air clears his head a little, enough for him to keep his feet, but Kenta insists on seeing him to the station anyway.

From anyone else, he might have found it offensive. Anyone else might have taken advantage of the moment to grill him on why he's doing this. Shoutarou certainly would have. Mitsuya might have, if only out of good-hearted curiosity. Youichirou, too, if Youichirou were still around. As it is, their last email exchange was more than a month ago.

"You know," Sho hears himself say, "I think You-chan moved in with that guy he's been dating?"

Kenta blinks. "I didn't know he was seeing someone."

"Living his ideal life ever since he retired. The coaching, the relationship, you name it. I'm expecting a photo of an idyllic country wedding any day now. Attended by his entire middle school baseball team, probably."

"You hoping to do the same?"

"Do I look like the marrying type to you?"

"No, and I know you were a shitty shortstop, too." Kenta smiles faintly at the the affronted look that Sho feigns. "I meant about retiring."

"Not exactly planning on moving to the countryside, if that's what you're asking."

"You know it's not."

They've known each other too long, Sho thinks again. Kenta won't press him, if he changes the topic. But Kenta will also listen, if he doesn't.

"How many people do you know," Sho asks, "in this business, who are happy — both professionally and personally? I can't think of more than a handful. If that."

"Depends on how you define it, right?"

"How do _you_ define people?"

Kenta quirks a smile. "Just saying, you have pretty high standards. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. But not everyone's like that."

"Aren't they?"

"I hope not?"

"Because I keep wondering. Is it because everyone around me has really shitty taste in people? Or because they're all the same type of people? They've worked their asses off getting where they are — we all did, you don't need me to tell you that. You pretty much have to be willing to sacrifice anything and everything to make it. And that's just the ones who do."

"Sho, you didn't retire because you weren't successful."

"But you get used to failing often as not."

"I don't know if I buy that."

"Doesn't mean it's not true. Maybe no one even realizes that's why we keep acting out the same stupid patterns in our personal lives."

The pause goes on long enough that Sho wonders if maybe he crossed a line. He rarely worries about that anymore, with Kenta. It's hard to doubt someone who's already seen his worst — multiple levels of worst, even — and still, after everything, is willing to buy him a drink and indulge his self-pity without treating it as anything more or less.

Kenta doesn’t get sentimental about things. But Kenta does get him.

And vice versa. Sho knows exactly what Kenta’s going to ask even before he says,

"Are you still thinking about Daisuke?"

"I'm over it."

"Doesn't mean you're not thinking about him." Kenta seems to be choosing his words carefully, and that's a throwback. Sho thought they outgrew the whole walking-on-eggshells-around-him phase about three years ago, when it became obvious that Daisuke was gone and didn't want to be found and maybe it was for the best.

And even if it wasn't for the best, it is what it is. "I can't not think about it, sometimes," Sho says. "I fucked up."

"It wasn't your fault."

"So you've said."

"Yeah, and you didn't believe me the first hundred times either, so — it wasn't your fault, Sho. It takes two people to screw up something that badly."

"Which still makes it fifty percent my fault, huh?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." When he looks over, Kenta's frown is that same mixture of worry and exasperation he's seen countless times before. Except now, he can see the fondness there, too. It'd have to be there, since Kenta's still willing to talk to him about something that should've been ancient history years ago. "I'm over it. I can even admit it: the whole thing was a mess from start to finish, and I should've seen it coming, except I didn't, because I'd already invested too much in something that wasn't and was never going to be — whatever I wanted it to be."

"Nothing wrong with wanting a relationship," Kenta says, voice soft.

"It sounds a lot less dramatic when you put it that way."

"You could use a little less drama."

"Good thing I'm retired."

"That wasn't—"

"No, I know. That's what I'm saying." He can see Kenta frowning at him, but that doesn't make it any less true. "Literally the only way I could've done the mid-twenties crisis as more of a cliche is if — I don't even know. A tearful coming out scene with my family or something."

The humor doesn't quite work. But Kenta says, "Pretty sure your mother did cry."

"She did not."

"That's not what I heard."

"Stop talking to my sister."

"Not my fault she likes me," Kenta quips, and yeah, Sho thinks — it's hard not to like Kenta.

"There's no accounting for taste." He gets an elbow for that, and deservedly. "Anyway, that's about the only excuse I've got. The rest — I just have really shitty taste in people, and I picked the absolute worst person in the world to fall for."

"You make it sound like it's a conscious choice."

"Part of it was, though, wasn't it?" It's easier to think about it as something inevitable, rather than as something you want. "I sold myself on a narrative of how things were supposed to go, and then I couldn't get out of that headspace."

"Your method acting didn't help," Kenta says sharply — and yeah, they've talked about that before, too. Sho would feel guiltier about making him worry, except it's nice to have someone he can talk to about things like this, and Kenta really does care. Like right now, as his voice softens, "Honestly, Sho. He strung you along for the better part of a year. Anyone would've come to the same conclusion you did. We all thought you two were a thing."

"And when you say 'we', you mean..."

"Everyone, probably."

"Everyone except him."

"Yes, well..." Kenta seems to be struggling with the words on the tip of his tongue. Sho wonders which will win out: the need to speak his mind, or the desire to speak no ill of a friend. Especially one long gone. Even if he deserves it. But even so—

Kenta says, "His loss."

—which is neither of the above.

"Yeah," Sho deadpans. "I'm a real catch."

"Don't you forget it." Kenta gives him a quick smile. "Not that you ever forget anything, even when you should."

That's the closest Kenta will ever come to complaining about the whole thing, even after all this time. And it isn't fair; Sho knows that — but then, he's always been too selfish to really care about fairness.

"No chance of anybody forgetting," Sho says, "long as Shoutarou's around to remind me — every other day, basically — how Daisuke removing himself from the equation was the kindest thing he'd ever done for me."

Kenta actually cringes. "Shoutarou doesn't know when to give up."

"I can sympathize."

"Birds of a feather, the two of you. It'd be cute if it wasn't also kind of worrying."

"Yeah, well. You know, I'm pretty sure he had a crush on you."

Kenta blinks at the non sequitur. "What?"

"Just saying. At some point, we all have to look around and re-evaluate things for what they are instead of what they were. You know?"

"Even I can't always read your mind."

"I'm saying I re-evaluated." Sho smiles at the slightly quizzical look on Kenta's face. "I thought there was one thing and only one thing for me, right? The dream, or whatever you want to call it. But hey, I'm retired, and the world hasn't ended or anything. Going by Youichirou's shining example, the world's apparently a much kinder place than I thought."

They've reached the train station. Kenta slows his steps; Sho waits with him, hands in his pockets, a breeze picking up around them as the pavement rumbles beneath their feet.

"I know it is," Kenta says finally. His lips are curved in that fond smile again. It looks good on him. "And not just for You-chan. You'll be fine, Sho. More than fine. Though, on that note — you think you'll be okay getting home by yourself?"

Sho looks from Kenta to the steps of the station. "What if I don't want to go home by myself?"

This pause goes on forever. This time, Sho knows he crossed a line. Leapt right over it, even.

When he looks back, Kenta is staring at him. He doesn't look angry, at least. If anything, Kenta looks stunned. Maybe in a good way.

Then Kenta blinks and visibly shakes himself out of it. Shakes his head again for good measure. "I get if you don't want to be alone right now, but I'm seriously the last person you should be coming on to."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"Because you were too good of a friend to ever make a move, when you knew I was hung up on someone else?" Sho sees the flicker of hurt in Kenta's eyes — confirmation, a perverse kind of affirmation. "That was eight years ago. I'm not that person anymore."

"And what makes you think _I_ still am?"

"You still like me, don't you?" He takes a half step closer. It's not the rumbling pavement that makes his feet unsteady. "Honestly, why didn't this happen earlier? I mean, apart from the whole thing where it would've been a breach of contract, except I'm pretty sure most things are, so—"

"It's not," Kenta says distractedly. "For you guys, maybe, but there's precedent with Amuse."

Sho waits for the punch line. He doesn't get one. "Wait, seriously?"

Kenta blinks; the look on his face tells Sho that he's regretting admitting what he just did. But he nods. "Apparently Sakurada hired a really good lawyer, the one time it came up."

"Wow," Sho says after taking a moment to work that into his worldview. "So why _hasn't_ this happened? Do you secretly find me repulsive or something? Is it the beard?"

"Shut up," Kenta snaps without any heat. "This isn't a joke. Is it?"

"Of course not."

Another pause. "You're serious?"

 _Define "serious,"_ Sho thinks about saying. He shrugs instead, because what's the point of defining something before it's happened? He's learned that lesson, if nothing else.

"Want to find out?"

They've known each other ten years, Sho thinks as Kenta takes a hesitant step forward. Kenta was there, when the whole thing started, back when they all first met, and Kenta was there when Sho finally realized that no, he'd been wrong, he'd been wrong about Daisuke all along. Through the slow-motion trainwreck of the ensuing months and all the times when Sho said he was over it, it's fine, it's over, he's moving on — except he never did, not even when Daisuke simply dropped off the radar one winter and no one knew or cared to know where he'd gone. 

Kenta's always been there, and he's still here now, past midnight in early January, the wind nipping at their heels as he hesitates a moment longer — then closes that last step between them. 

And hugs Sho.

"I'm not letting you do this when you've been drinking," Kenta says quietly. "But you can crash at my place if you want. And if you're not so hungover tomorrow you want to die — if you can still tell me that with a straight face in the morning — then you can take me to dinner on Friday."

Kenta's hair tickles his nose. He's a warm weight in Sho's arms, fitting like a worn pair of gloves. 

"Haven't we known each other for about a decade too long to be playing the third-date game?"

Kenta shoves at him for that. He doesn't quite manage to push Sho away, however; he doesn't seem to mind. Even when Sho gives him an aggrieved look.

Kenta just reaches for his hand. "Come on," he says, fingers closing around Sho's, and leads him home.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Sho is — as predicted — so hungover that he spends the first ten minutes he's awake dictating a last will and testament while Kenta stands over him, looking distinctly unimpressed and threatening to dump the glass of water on his face if he doesn't drink it.

But then — after he's taken the aspirin, crawled out of bed, and washed up the best he can — the first thing he says, as they sit down to breakfast, is,

"So where do you want to go on Friday?"

Kenta's answering smile is like the breaking dawn: slow, inevitable. Sho lets the weight of it sink and settle in his chest. It's the first day of the rest of his life. 

And for the first time in a long time, he thinks — it's going to be just fine.


	8. Seven

Yutaka offers his arm with a flourish. "Shall we?"

Daisuke laughs at him, and — when Yutaka retracts neither his words nor the ridiculous gesture — takes his arm. "Where are we going?"

"It's your special day," Yutaka says as they exit the building. "Whatever you want."

"And if I want a unicorn and a princess dress?"

"The unicorn's on its way from the enchanted forest. But the dress — I keep telling you, a princess cut is so last season. You'd look _much_ hotter in something slinky with sequins."

Daisuke elbows him for that. Or tries to. Yutaka just tugs him closer, grinning, not caring in the least that they're two grown men walking down the street arm in arm. Daisuke would be lying if he said it didn't feel kind of nice, to be able to do this, with someone who obviously cares about him.

And if it's not exactly what he wants, well — even Yutaka can't get him everything.

It's just a day, he tells himself. To Yutaka, he says,

"You pick."

It gets him a huge smile. "I was hoping you'd say that." Yutaka checks his phone. "Okay! Well. There's this _fabulous_ place a couple blocks from here. You'll love it."

"I don't even know why you bothered to ask," Daisuke teases him. "You obviously know best."

"I really do," Yutaka agrees.

"Shut up."

"Ask and ye shall receive the truth."

"What's in my future then, fortune teller?"

"An excellent birthday dinner, a unicorn, and all the love and happiness that you deserve." Yutaka smiles at Daisuke's snort. "I mean it."

"If we run into Kikuchi, I'm blaming you."

"What?"

"Just a joke." Daisuke tries to think of a nice way to explain it. "You remember Shison Jun?"

"Oh, right. You said you met up with him and—"

"Tomoru, yeah. On Sunday. Funny story, actually. I was meeting Tomoru for a drink. We'd called Jun earlier, too, but he said he was heading straight home after work, so it was just the two of us. But we'd just sat down when Tomoru's phone goes off..."

 

* * *

 

_Sunday Night_

Jun plunks down on the bar stool next to Tomoru, scowling. "I swear to god, some people just cannot take a hint." He snags Daisuke's wine glass and takes a huge gulp.

Daisuke exchanges a glance with Tomoru.

"Nice of you to join us," Tomoru says.

"Yeah." Jun's tone makes it sound like just the opposite. Tomoru moves his own drink out of the way. Jun says to Daisuke, "Seriously, can you just tell Shoutarou to call you himself? Literally every time I run into him, it's _oh how's Daisuke? You seen him lately? I heard he's at that dance studio in Shibuya?_ I know you two are friends or whatever, but he's being super weird about it. You haven't been avoiding him, have you? Not that I'd blame you."

Tomoru's eyebrows have practically disappeared into his bangs. Jun takes another gulp of Daisuke's drink.

"I saw him last week," Daisuke says. "Have you, um. Are _you_ avoiding him?"

"What? No!" Jun scowls at the wine some more. "He caught me leaving the office. I told him I'd just finished a fourteen-hour day — filming was hell today. This director has no idea what he's doing. It was literally one scene and it took about six hours just to get the lighting—"

"And after filming you ran into Shoutarou?" Tomoru prompts.

"Yeah. So he starts going on about how he was supposed to get dinner with his friends, but then Jinnai bailed on him because he has plans with his boyfriend — so I was like, oh that's too bad. Meaning, sucks for you. But he apparently took that as an invitation to tell me all about Jinnai's plans for the night, how he's buying flowers and going to the theater and big romantic gesture, blah blah blah. I mean, _come on_." Jun finishes Daisuke's wine.

Daisuke signals the bartender for two more drinks.

Tomoru says, "I thought you said he was getting on your case about Daisuke."

"That was at the office. Then he followed me to the station, and _then_ he tried to get me to go to dinner with him."

"I thought you were friends.”

"I have plenty of friends," Jun practically growls. "Doesn't mean I have to spend every minute of my life obsessing over their love lives because I've got nothing better going on in my own life except to go drinking with the first person who says yes—"

"Cheers," says Daisuke, as their drinks arrive. He hands one to Jun.

"Thanks. Anyway, he wouldn't leave me alone, so I called you—" Jun tips his glass to Tomoru, who nods graciously, "—and invited Shoutarou, since he wouldn't shut up about Daisuke."

"You invited him?" Daisuke asks. Tomoru gives him a look. It's possible the question came out more like a squeak.

Jun snorts. "He finally took the hint and left me alone. Seriously. Can you believe him?" 

"Remarkable," says Tomoru.

"Yeah," says Daisuke. "Well. Glad you could join us."

"Just for a bit. God, I'm exhausted." Jun scrubs a hand over his face, through his hair. Which somehow makes it even more artfully tousled. "I was out 'til like past one with Kikuchi last night."

Daisuke nearly spits out his drink. Tomoru furtively hands him a napkin.

"Coffee?" asks Tomoru.

"At that time of night?" Jun gives Tomoru a look of disdain. "No. We went to get food after filming wrapped. For me, anyway. I don't know why that freak was at the studio at midnight. Probably working on some dumb ballad again."

"That's real dedication," Daisuke remarks.

"Only Kikuchi," Tomoru adds.

Jun snorts. "Yeah, he's a real u—" Jun catches Daisuke's eye. "—useless singer-songwriter toolbag. As if we don't already have enough of those." Jun puts his drink down and gets up. "I gotta use the men's room. Be right back."

There's a beat of silence.

Tomoru glances at Daisuke. They burst out laughing simultaneously.

"Oh, my god." Tomoru wipes what might be an actual tear from his eye.

Daisuke tries to get his giggling under control. "So that's going well, I guess."

"Depends who you ask."

"What does Kikuchi think of all this?"

"Him? He's over the moon. Can't believe his luck. About to drop a whole new album all about old flames and second chances. It'd be kind of sad, really, if Jun weren't so obviously into it."

Daisuke smiles down at his drink. "I'm glad it's going well."

Tomoru hums to himself. "Guess it's a good year for second chances."

"What?"

"You came back. Jin's accepted our invite to the revived Line group. And Jun and Takkun are doing whatever they're doing." Tomoru sips his wine. He glances at Daisuke. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," says Daisuke, maybe a little too quickly. He drinks his beer.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You already said that."

"I know." Because it's true. Things are as they should be. Better than they could be, because here he is, having a drink with his friends. Even if Jun's reasons for joining them are dubious at best. But that's Jun for you. 

And if it's still a little strange to hear his friends talk about Sho, tell stories about him that have nothing to do with Daisuke, well — people change. Daisuke is back in Tokyo and Sho is happy. Sho has the life and the relationship he always wanted and deserved, so everything's as it should be.

To Tomoru, he says, "So, did I tell you I started working with this choreographer? I was at the studio all weekend. Except for a couple hours yesterday when I went shopping with — Jinnai." Tomoru's giving him a look that Daisuke isn't ready to parse. "Anyway, after that I headed back to the studio—"

 

* * *

 

"Wait," says Yutaka. "You met up with Sho over the weekend?"

"Just for a bit."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I thought he was busy. He told me he was working extra hours and that's why he didn't have time to—" Yutaka cuts himself off. He purses his lips, thinking.

Daisuke says, "He was making up time so he could take today off, before Kenta goes to Osaka tomorrow. Right?"

"Yeah — wait, how did you know that?"

Daisuke unwinds his arm from Yutaka's. "We've been texting." He takes a breath. "Anyway, it's nice that things are kind of back to normal."

Yutaka squeezes his hand. "He still cares about you. We all do."

"I know." Daisuke manages a quick smile. "I'm a lucky girl."

He has nothing to complain about. He'd spent the day at the studio, where no one knew it was his birthday — except Utsumi, which was a bit surprising, and surprisingly sweet of him. Even if all he'd said was, _Hey, heard you're another year older. Congrats._

There's also a text on his phone, from Tomoru, along with a promise to go out for dinner sometime next week.

And then there's Yutaka, who had baked a cake — as promised — though the producers had whisked it away before Yutaka could steal a slice for Daisuke, as he'd explained and apologized for about a half dozen times over, until finally Daisuke laughed at him to shut up already and get changed so they can go to dinner.

There's no point wanting something he can't have.

"We're here," Yutaka says, interrupting his thoughts. He skips a couple steps ahead and holds the door for Daisuke. "After you."

"You're ridiculous," Daisuke informs him. He finds himself smiling anyway.

"You don't know the half of it." Yutaka gives him a quick grin, before giving his name to the hostess. The woman immediately picks up a menu and asks them to follow her.

Daisuke glances at Yutaka. "You made a reservation?"

"This place gets pretty busy."

"You didn't want my input at all, did you?"

"Nope," says Yutaka happily as they walk toward the back of the restaurant, turn a corner and—

" _Happy birthday!_ " 

 

* * *

 

The look on Daisuke's face is worth it, Sho thinks.

Not that it'd been that much trouble; Yutaka had, as promised, done most of the work. Sho just found Akazawa's number among his old contacts and sent it along, because when Yutaka asked Sho who else he should invite to the party, Sho had honestly no idea. 

It's been years. He doesn't know who Daisuke's friends are anymore.

But now here they are. It's a bigger group of people than Sho had expected — even though Seiya had turned down the invite — and when Yutaka texted earlier to say they were en route, all Sho had to do was announce, 

"Fifteen minute warning, everyone. They're on their way."

Across the table, Shison turned to Kikuchi and hissed something that sounded like, "Don't you _dare_ sing harmony." Akazawa glanced at Shison, then turned back to talking to Shirasu and Isedai.

Utsumi checked his own phone. "Where are they coming from?"

"Just a couple blocks away," Sho said. 

Next to him, Kenta turned to Shoutarou and asked about work.

Fifteen minutes later, Sho still doesn't really know what to make of that. Nor does he know what to make of the way that Daisuke — after the initial shock — looks immediately to him. 

For just a split a second. 

Then Yutaka clears his throat meaningfully, and Sho remembers to breathe.

" _Happy birthday to you..._ "

Daisuke covers his mouth with one hand. Not that it hides his smile, as the rest of them dutifully join in on the song.

" _Happy birthday, dear Daisuke..._ "

Someone's singing harmony. Sho glances over and finds Shison glaring at Kikuchi — who's shaking his head, _not me_.

" _Happy birthday to you!_ " 

Sho looks to Kikuchi's left. Utsumi catches his eye. Shrugs.

"Happy birthday, Dai-chan!" Akazawa darts forward to hug Daisuke. And then Shirasu and Isedai have surrounded him as well, followed by Shison — who drags Kikuchi with him — and when Sho looks back, Utsumi is saying,

"He looks really happy. Nice work, man."

And Sho doesn't know what to make of that, either. "Yeah. Yutaka throws a good party."

"Who?"

"Kobayashi Yutaka." Sho points at Yutaka, who's looking on with a fond smile as Daisuke talks to Kikuchi. "He sent the invites?"

"Oh." Utsumi looks perplexed. "I got an email from Shirasu. He just said Daisuke's friends were throwing a surprise party and, you know." There's a pause, as if Utsumi's waiting for Sho to finish the sentence. When he doesn't, Utsumi says, "Okay, well. I'm gonna go say hi."

Next to him, Kenta asks, "Should we go, too?"

Next to Kenta, Shoutarou puts his elbow on the table and stares at Sho.

He's saved by Yutaka appearing at just that moment, arms outstretched as if he could hug all three of them at once. "Thanks for coming, everyone."

"It's been _way_ too long," Shoutarou deadpans. 

Yutaka laughs. "Just too bad Seiya couldn't make it. I was getting used to seeing all of you once a week." Yutaka smiles at them. "Come on! Come say hi before those guys talk Daisuke's ear off."

It does look like something of a marathon catch-up session happening at the far end of the table. Utsumi is chatting with Kikuchi, while Shirasu is subtly trying to pull Isedai away. But Daisuke looks happy, surrounded by old friends and laughing at whatever story Isedai is excitedly telling him.

Kenta follows Yutaka over. Sho is about to do the same when Shoutarou grabs his arm. 

"You want to tell me what the hell is really going on?"

 

* * *

 

_Monday Night_

He's leaving the office when a voice says, "Hey, stranger."

He turns to see Shoutarou walking across the lobby, catching up just as he's opened the front door. Shoutarou falls into step beside him.

"Where you headed?"

"Home," says Sho, because it's past nine and he's been in the office since seven this morning. He might fall asleep on the train.

"Cool. I'll walk with you."

"You live on the other side of the city."

"It's early. Might call up some people and hang out for a while."

"Don't you have a job?"

"This acting thing's more of a hobby." Shoutarou rolls his eyes at whatever expression is on his face. Then he grins. "So how'd it go?"

"How'd what go?"

"Yesterday? Your big romantic gesture? Flowers and music and the stars reflected in the eyes of your one true love—"

"Why are you like this?"

"Why are _you_ like this? I'm just making conversation." Something buzzes; Shoutarou fishes his phone out of his pocket.

Sho resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It won't help. "Look, I appreciate it, but I just want to go home. Okay? It's been a really long—"

"What the hell is this?"

Sho looks to his left — then over his shoulder. Shoutarou has stopped a couple steps behind him and is staring at his phone.

"What the hell is what?"

Shoutarou looks at him. Looks back at his phone. Looks at him again with narrowed eyes. "You should have gotten an email, too."

Maybe it's work related. The feeling he gets isn't so much sinking as resigned. Sho checks his phone — and finds an email from Yutaka.

 _Surprise party for Daisuke!_ reads the subject line.

He looks back up to find Shoutarou still watching him. 

"You don't look surprised," Shoutarou notes.

"Yeah, well. It's not a surprise party for _me_." Sho opens the email and skims the contents. Wednesday night, at eight, a restaurant that he vaguely remembers passing once or twice. It's near Yutaka's studio, which makes sense. He pockets his phone. "Are you gonna go?"

"Are _you_ gonna go?"

"I guess. Kenta doesn't leave for Osaka until Thursday, and I'm taking the day off—"

"And you're gonna spend it on a surprise birthday party for _Hirose Daisuke?_ "

"It's just the evening." Sho tries and fails to keep the irritation out of his voice. "And why do you care what I do on my day off?"

"I don't. But your boyfriend might."

Sho opens his mouth to say, _He's my boyfriend, not yours_ — and thinks better of it. He's not having this fight in the middle of a street. He's not having this fight anywhere at all, because it's none of Shoutarou's business.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he manages, finally, "but I am literally falling asleep on my feet here, so. I'm going home."

He's gone no more than three steps before Shoutarou catches his arm and forces him to a stop. Sho glares at him; Shoutarou doesn't let go.

"What are you doing?" Shoutarou asks.

"Going home."

"Do you enjoy torturing yourself like this? Is this a misplaced guilt thing because — what, because he _left_? You've already done the dutiful friend thing, okay? We had a reunion, KY-san was great, and it was exactly as uncomfortable as it should have been, so now this is the part where you walk away from Hirose Daisuke because—"

"What are you—"

"You don't owe him anything, Sho!"

He stares at Shoutarou. Shoutarou looks him in the eye, not glaring but grim. And for the first time in — years, maybe, Sho remembers all over again that Shoutarou isn't sixteen anymore.

"I know it's none of my business," Shoutarou says, "except it kind of is, because I'm your friend and I have been these last ten years. And I can tell when you're not okay, and literally every time I say _Daisuke_ —"

"Maybe if you stopped saying it like you hate him?"

"You can't keep pretending none of it happened!"

Obviously. If he could, Sho thinks, he wouldn't be where he is now.

It's not a useful train of thought. 

He says, "It happened. It's over. I'm over it. When are _you_ going to get over it?"

"Excuse me?"

"You keep bringing this up like you're the one with a personal stake here. If anyone has a reason to—" The word _hate_ sticks in his throat. "—not want to see Daisuke, it's me. But I'm fine with it. So whatever you think—"

"You want to know what I think?" Shoutarou's tone is incredulous. "I think you looked poleaxed when we saw him two weeks ago, and you didn't look much better last Tuesday. If you don't want to talk to me — fine. But seriously, have you at least talked to Kenta?"

"I don't—" Sho bites back the rest of that sentence. _I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing_ wouldn't work here. That's not what this is. "I don't need you looking out for me."

"The hell’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means I am _fine_." Sho reigns in his irritation. He takes a deep breath. "What happened — was a long time ago. I'm not that person anymore, and I'd appreciate it if you could see that and, as my friend, believe me when I say I'm fine. Because I am. And I'm also tired as hell, so I'd like to just go home and maybe get a couple hours of sleep—"

"Are you gonna eat first?"

"Literally what did I just say?"

"Sorry! Sorry." Shoutarou sounds somewhere between frustrated and chagrined. At least that's better than whatever was happening before. He glances at Sho. "You really scared me, you know that?"

"What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Daisuke came back and you just kind of..." Shoutarou shrugs. "You went along with it. Like you did back then. Seeing you like that once was enough."

And Shoutarou might not be sixteen anymore, but even ten years from now, Sho thinks, he couldn't have responded to that with anything other than,

"C'mere."

Shoutarou doesn't even look around to see if anyone's watching. Just hugs him. Quick and hard, with some kind of stubborn determination that Sho would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate. 

"I'm fine, Shoutarou. Seriously."

Shoutarou gives him a wry grin. "Yeah. Well. Can you blame me?"

"Kind of, yeah, when you're being super weird about it."

"Your _face_ is super weird about it," comes the immediate retort. Shoutarou grins at his eye roll. "Go home and get some sleep. Or not, depending."

"Okay, I'm done," Sho announces.

He hears Shoutarou laughing to himself as he walks away. Sho rubs his eyes, which does nothing to help the blurred effect at the edges of his vision. His phone buzzes. A text from Kenta, 

_Are you still at work?_

Shoutarou's right. He should go home and get some sleep. Kenta's apartment is an hour away from here; if he takes the bus, he could be at his own place in half the time.

He's taking Wednesday off. He writes back,

_Gonna crash at my place tonight but I'll see you tomorrow_

 

* * *

 

"Happy birthday, Dai-chan!" 

Tomoru's hug nearly knocks him off his feet, and Daisuke hangs on for dear life as they wobble and regain their balance, laughing all the while. His face hurts from how much he's smiling, and his eyes are watering from how much his face hurts from how much he's smiling as he hugs Tomoru back.

When Tomoru finally releases him, Daisuke turns to Yutaka — and punches him in the arm. 

All that does is makes Yutaka laugh and pull him in for another hug.

"Told you all my fortunes come true."

"Thank you. _Thank you_. I can't believe you did this."

Yutaka looks over Daisuke's shoulder. "Don't thank me," he says — and Daisuke's breath catches in his throat — before Yutaka continues, "Thank everyone who came."

Right. Of course. 

Daisuke turns and there's Jin. Who looks exactly the same as Daisuke remembers, right down to the faint smile he's wearing.

"Happy birthday, old friend. Sorry I missed the last five."

Daisuke laughs, or maybe chokes on a laugh, or maybe it's just the tight feeling in his throat. "I forgive you."

And then Jin's hugging him, and the watery feeling in his eyes gets about ten times worse. If Jin notices, he doesn't comment.

He's not going to make it through even five minutes without crying, Daisuke thinks. From the corner of his vision, he can see Jun heading toward him — Kikuchi in tow — and that's Utsumi behind them.

And after that...

"Daisuke, it's been so long! Happy birthday!" 

He blinks, and that's all he has time to do before someone is hugging him again. It takes him a second to match the voice with a face with a name—

"Isedai?"

"Who else?" he hears Jun sigh. 

"Oh. Yeah, it's me. Hi." Isedai releases him so they can see each other. And Daisuke can't help but laugh a little, because honestly, who else could it be? 

He returns Isedai's huge smile. "How've you been?"

"Good, good. And I should be asking you that! These guys mentioned you were back in town, and I was just thinking about how to get in touch with you when we heard about the party, so that all worked out pretty well. Say, are you really at that studio in Shibuya? The one that Jin said they had like a rivalry or something—"

"Or something," Jin interjects, and pulls Isedai aside.

"I made Kikuchi promise not to ruin the birthday song with two-part harmony," Jun says with no preamble, "but I forgot to account for your dance buddy. Anyway, happy birthday. You should've seen the look on your face."

"What? I mean — thank you. I was really surprised."

Kikuchi, who’s been kind of just hovering the whole time, leans over Jun's shoulder to stage whisper, "But it was a good surprise, right?" 

He either doesn't notice or doesn't care about Jun's eye roll. Daisuke really hopes it's one and not the other. He leans closer as well — because it makes Kikuchi smile, and also because now Jun's boxed in between them and looking vaguely disgruntled — and stage whispers back,

"It was _the best_." 

"Congrats on being another year older," says a voice behind him. Daisuke turns to see Utsumi, who's wearing exactly the same grin — and, for that matter, the same outfit — as when he'd said the same thing to Daisuke at the studio this morning.

Daisuke lets Utsumi draw him in for a bro-hug anyway. 

"So _that's_ how you remembered it was my birthday."

"Yeah, let's go with 'remembered'."

Daisuke laughs despite himself, despite the fact that it's really not a nice thing to say to someone at their birthday party, but Utsumi's grinning, too, inviting him in on the joke. 

A tap on his shoulder makes him jump. But it's just Yutaka — and Kenta. 

"Hey, you." Kenta's smile is the same as ever. "Happy birthday."

Daisuke is about to say _thanks_ when Kenta holds out his arms, just like he did that night in the theater, because Kenta is and always has been a kind person, the kind of person that Daisuke sometimes wishes but knows he'll never be. 

He accepts the hug. "Thank you," he manages. "Really."

Kenta has just let him go when a voice chirps, 

"Dai-chan! Happy birthday!"

And Daisuke doesn't even have time to react to this one as Shoutarou walks up with a huge smile — and bear hugs him. 

It's only instinct that saves him from doing anything like falling over or flinching or pushing Shoutarou away. Then it's over, and then Shoutarou's saying to him,

"It's really been a while, huh?"

"Yeah," Daisuke agrees, before realizing — "Well, I mean. We just went for drinks last week."

"Oh, I know. I just meant this." Shoutarou glances around the room. "You, us, a surprise party. It's like practically tradition by now. Hey, remember that time KY-san threw you a surprise party while he was in Nagoya? Talk about long distance."

Daisuke glances at Kenta, who doesn't seem to have any better idea of what Shoutarou's talking about. 

"Um. I don't remember Yutaka ever—"

"That time Seiya threw you a party," Shoutarou explains. "KY-san planned it."

And Daisuke — doesn't know what he's supposed to say to that. He glances around for the man in question; Yutaka is nowhere to be found. It's possible he disappeared into the chattering knot of people around Isedai.

Someone says, "Yutaka does throw a good party, I'll give him that." 

Daisuke turns back, and there's Sho.

It's not that he didn't see it coming from a mile (or at least a couple minutes) away, but he's also suddenly aware of the fact that Kenta's watching, and Shoutarou hasn't moved either. He's aware that his lips hurt from biting back a smile. He's aware that he's hugged everyone else at this party so, surely, it would be weirder if he _doesn't_ hug Sho? 

He catches himself fiddling with his sleeve. Drops his arm.

Sho says, "Happy birthday."

Daisuke says, "Thanks."

The split second pause afterwards seems to last forever. Same as the split second when their eyes met, when he came in to a chorus of _happy birthday_ 's. Same as the split second when Yutaka said _don't thank me_ and Daisuke thought — knew — wanted it to be true, if only for a second, that Sho was the one throwing him a surprise birthday party. The way he's done before.

People change.

Except. 

Maybe Sho moves an arm, or leans forward, or maybe Daisuke does. He doesn't know. What he does know is that a moment later, Sho's arms are around him and Daisuke is trying very, very hard not to hold on for all he's worth because why should he, it's just a hug. 

He can't have everything he wants, and he's done wanting what he can't have. But just for now, Daisuke thinks — maybe all he wants is this.

 

* * *

 

_Sunday Night_

"So," Tomoru says, after Jun has finished his drink in record time and left as abruptly as he arrived, pleading exhaustion and the ever-so-late hour of 10:30 on a weeknight. Two glasses of wine on the bar between them, courtesy of Tomoru. "You were saying about Jinnai Sho."

Daisuke picks up his glass. "What's there to say?"

"I don't know. What is there?"

"I already told you: we went shopping—"

"So you're friends again?"

"Yeah. I mean, we were always friends."

Tomoru's giving him that look again. Daisuke drinks his wine. It tastes dry and expensive. Not that he's someone who really knows much about that kind of thing, but Tomoru insisted on buying this round.

Maybe Jun had the right idea. It is getting late.

Tomoru says, "He wasn't a very good friend to you, back then."

And yeah — Daisuke knows that, can admit it now, after years of nothing but time to look back on what went wrong and how. In retrospect, he should have realized sooner that Sho wasn't like Jin or Tomoru or even Yutaka. He'd never had to make time for Sho, the way Jun insists friends are supposed to do, because Sho was always there for him no matter the time or place. And it'd been so easy, the way they fell into each other’s lives, that Daisuke never stopped to question why that was.

In retrospect, they were never good at saying what they meant to each other, because it had all been so obvious — except, Daisuke knows now, those reasons had always been slightly different to Sho. Or, more accurately, Sho had realized what all of it meant.

In retrospect, they were never friends. Not exactly.

"I don't blame him," Daisuke says out loud. "I hurt him pretty badly. He was always there for me, and it's not his fault I never even stopped to ask why he was—"

"He had no right to assume."

"Didn't all of you assume?" Tomoru's expression gives nothing away, but Daisuke's not a dumb kid anymore; he knows he's right when he says, "You and everyone else who knew us. I bet you thought it, too."

"And I was wrong." Tomoru gives him a faint smile, maybe at the surprise that registers on Daisuke's face to hear him admit it. Not that Tomoru is stubborn, like Jun, or painstakingly neutral, like Jin; Tomoru almost never apologizes because he's almost never wrong. "We all were. So if we're going to talk about blame, it's no more your fault than it was his."

 _Wasn't it?_ Daisuke can't find it in himself to ask. He'd thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him, and for no better reason than lack of self-awareness.

It still hurts to think about.

"Yeah, well." Daisuke picks up his wine, puts it down again. "Maybe if I'd just realized sooner."

"Or if he'd actually said something."

"It was obvious, wasn't it?"

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, sure. But just because you love someone — you don't always get a second chance." Tomoru goes quiet for a moment. Then he adds, "Don't tell Takkun I said that."

Daisuke manages a smile. "I won't if you won't."

"May his hope spring eternal."

"I don't think he'll stop writing songs anytime soon, if that's what you mean."

Tomoru actually laughs. "That'll be the day."

Daisuke picks up his glass again; Tomoru follows suit. The ambient noise of the bar muffles conversation, and Daisuke wonders if Tomoru also has some things he'd rather not say. He can forgive that, Daisuke thinks. After all, he knows the feeling, now.

"Is it what you want?" Tomoru asks eventually. "Being friends with him?"

"I don't know," Daisuke lies, because lying is better than admitting that he wants someone he has no right to want anymore, if ever he did.

"You don't know?"

"I didn't come back for him, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not."

Daisuke shrugs. "I got a second chance. Things are okay — things are a lot better than I expected, honestly, coming back here. I wouldn't have blamed him if he never wanted to talk to me again, but he does. So. That's good, you know?"

He drinks his wine.

Tomoru says, "Be careful, Dai-chan."

"I won't mess things up again."

"I know." Tomoru's hand covers his own. "But be careful, for your own sake. He's hurt you, too."

"That wasn't his fault."

"Maybe," Tomoru says. "But he did hurt you, even if he didn't mean to."

 

* * *

 

Shoutarou hasn't said a word to him, ever since Sho had shaken him off with a curt, _There's nothing going on. Stop stirring up trouble._

And Kenta — Kenta has barely spoken to him all evening, chatting instead with Shoutarou. Which at least means Shoutarou also hasn't had an opportunity to do much more than glare at Sho over Kenta's shoulder.

Sho ends up talking to Utsumi — and Shirasu — instead. Apparently, they've worked with each other in the recent past. Utsumi has more than enough anecdotes and gossip to go around.

"Oh man, remember that time Taito crashed rehearsal, like literally? It was for that dance fest. And that guy from your studio — whassisname, Ozawa something? He was totally pissed off."

"You mean Kohatsu-kun?"

"Yeah! That was hilarious. Oh, don't give me that look. Kohatsu could loosen up a little. The stereo didn't even hit him that hard."

"It was your sound system," Shirasu says diplomatically.

"It needed to be replaced anyway," Utsumi says airily, before launching into another anecdote. 

Most of the names and references go right over Sho's head, but Utsumi seems happy enough with his periodic offerings of, "Is that right?" or "Ha, wow." Shirasu looks politely skeptical of every other word out of Utsumi's mouth, but knows enough of the people and situations to keep the conversation going.

He wonders what Daisuke is talking about, with his friends, at the other end of the table.

Yutaka wanders over, sometime between drinks and the cake that he'd had sent to the restaurant straight from his studio. It's an impressive-looking cake, and Daisuke's laugh of delight had said it all. 

"Hey, you." Yutaka pulls up an empty chair. "Why the long face?"

"It's just my face."

Yutaka is gracious enough to laugh at the half-hearted joke. Or maybe he actually finds it funny. Hard to tell, with him. 

"The face of a hardworking salaryman," Yutaka teases. "Speaking of which, how was your day off?"

Next to him, Kenta chuckles at something Shoutarou said. 

Sho tells Yutaka, "It was all right."

"Just all right? I thought you were having so much fun, you weren't even going to show up tonight." Yutaka's grin softens. "But I'm glad you did. It means a lot to Daisuke."

And there's no reason for the words to stick in his throat, when all Yutaka said was that.

He can hear faint snatches of conversation from all around him. Isedai, arguing good-naturedly with Shison about something from way back when. Utsumi telling another tall tale, dragging Kikuchi into the conversation. Kenta's voice, too low to be distinguishable from the general hubbub. A peal of laughter from the other end of the table.

"Yeah," Sho manages finally. "Wouldn't have missed it."

 

* * *

 

_Wednesday Morning_

He wakes slowly, opens his eyes to find Kenta already sitting up in bed. There's a book in his hands, but he's staring at the far wall. Neither of them had set an alarm for today. The bedside clock reads 8:09.

"Thought you'd want to sleep in," Sho manages, before a yawn catches up with him. 

Kenta blinks. He puts his book aside. "I've had two days off. Got all the beauty rest I can handle, honestly."

"Mm. I can see that." 

Kenta scoffs at the blatant flattery, but doesn't resist when Sho pulls him in for a kiss. 

After, Sho makes breakfast while Kenta takes a shower. He puts the kettle on and checks his phone. There's a couple messages from Tera, an email from Yutaka, a missed call from Shoutarou — but no voice mail — and a text from Daisuke:

_Found out yesterday that Ryuu is 36??? Whaaaaaaaaaaat_

Sho can practically see Daisuke's look of surprise. He grins to himself as he types a reply: _Thirties are a man's peak years, young'un._

A speech bubble pops up almost immediately, and Daisuke's reply follows: 

_I'm not that much younger than you old man_  
_Anyway yeah that was kinda a shock... Ryuu said he only started doing dance seriously like five years ago so he must've been thirty already?_  
_That's amazing tbh_

Thinking back to himself at thirty, Sho is inclined to agree. 

_Never too late to make a change,_ he writes back.

He hears the bathroom door open. 

Kenta says, "I thought you weren't working today."

"It's not for work."

"Who is it?" 

"Tera," Sho says, because it's technically true. "Yutaka, Daisuke, Shoutarou — you'd think he'd be sick of me by now, but apparently not."

Kenta pours hot water into two cups for tea. 

"Got any plans for today?"

Sho accepts the cup that Kenta hands him. "I'm all yours."

"Hmm." Kenta holds his tea to his lips, letting the steam mist around his face. "When's the last time you went to Kamakura?"

"Not since — I don't even know when. You want to go there?"

"It's nice out. I already checked the weather," Kenta adds, when Sho starts looking up the information on his phone. "I just thought it'd be good to get away for a bit. Walk around, maybe go to the beach when it cools down."

"Looks like it's going to be pretty hot all day."

"It'll be nice in the evening."

Sho looks up from his phone. "I thought we were going to Daisuke's party."

"I thought we'd actually spend some time together, these last couple of days." 

Kenta drinks his tea.

Sho absorbs the sharp edge to those words. "We have the whole day."

"Just until the party."

"If you don't want to go—"

"Why do you want to?"

"What?"

Kenta pours out the rest of his tea, puts his cup in the sink. For all that he's had a couple days off, the sag of his shoulders speaks of weariness. "Never mind. It was a stupid idea. I don't even like the beach."

"No," Sho agrees. "You don't."

"Yeah."

He waits for Kenta to elaborate. Kenta doesn't.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"I don't want you to be mad at me."

"I'm not." Kenta turns on the faucet, rinses his cup and puts it aside to dry. "I'm not. But I've barely seen you these past few days, and I'm going to Osaka tomorrow, so that's another week. I know we've both been focused on work, and that's fine, that's how it is. But when you said you were taking today off and we'd have some time to ourselves — I really thought you meant it."

The faucet drips slightly, a quirk of the apartment that Sho is used to by now. He reaches past Kenta, turns it on and off again. The dripping stops.

"I did mean it," he says. "And I'm sorry about yesterday."

"You were at work until past midnight."

"I would've gotten back earlier, but it's like an hour to the office from here, and a couple last-minute things came up—"

"I understand that, Sho." Kenta looks at him, finally, which is a start. "It sucks, but this is what you decided to do with your life and I respect that—"

"I thought you'd be happier that I quit acting."

"I— What?"

Kenta is staring at him. He shouldn't have said that.

"Like you said, it hasn't been easy." Sho steps away, picks up his own tea. "I wish it was. And I'm sorry we didn't get to go out for dinner yesterday, like we planned. But we still have today, so if you want..."

There's a long pause.

Kenta says, "You want to go out for dinner tonight?"

"I want to spend time with you. Just the two of us." He looks up and meets Kenta's eyes. "Can we start from there?"

Another pause.

Kenta steps closer, takes the lukewarm tea from his hands and puts it aside. His skin is warm when he laces their fingers together.

"All right," Kenta says. "Let's start from there."

Maybe it's not all right, not completely, but Sho doesn't call him out on it, and Kenta lets it go.

They spend the rest of the morning watching TV, flicking through channels and dramas that neither of them has had the time to stay up to date on, though they've both seen and worked on enough to extrapolate entire storylines — Kenta, with a serious view toward narrative structure; Sho, with implausible melodrama that makes Kenta laugh and protest and eventually shush him with a pillow to the face.

They go out for a late lunch and take a meandering walk back.

They talk about work, friends, idle gossip and Tera's adventures in China — as documented in thirty-seven emails that neither of them has fully read, but can guess the contents of. 

Neither of them mentions Daisuke, and for a couple hours Sho thinks it might just be okay.

"I've been meaning to see this," Kenta says when they pass a movie poster for some third installment in a horror franchise that Sho's never even heard of. 

He buys the tickets. "It's a date."

It's creepier than Sho expected, and Kenta is still laughing at him by the time they exit the theater. 

Sho checks the time. 

"We might as well head straight to the party," he says. "It's not too far from here."

And that's when Kenta stops smiling. "I thought we weren't going."

"I already told Yutaka we'd be there."

The sun is low in the sky, summer heat melting into evening as a breeze kicks up dust from the street. Sho rubs at his eyes; the irritation is worse, with his contacts in. 

Kenta turns away from him. 

"All right," he says again, like he did before, and it sounds no better the second time around. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

"—so it's half an hour before curtains rise, and we're literally out of time, but then Kou-chan goes, _I'll deliver 'em myself!_ So he takes the whole thing—"

"Teddy bear and all," Tomoru adds.

"Teddy bear and all," Isedai agrees. "And he just dashes out of there, with this giant flower arrangement that's practically as tall as he is."

"Exaggeration," Jun sighs. 

"I mean, I was definitely worried he wouldn't be able to see where he was going. But like I said, he's already gone. And, you know, he's pretty fast, so I figure there's a decent chance he'll get there—"

"But then," Tomoru says, lip quirking.

"But then!" Isedai laughs. "Twenty minutes later, I get a call from him — and I'm thinking, wow, that was fast! So I pick up the phone, and Kou-chan says all in a panic—"

" _This is terrible! It's opening night, and there's no one here!_ " Jun and Tomoru chorus with him, like a well-rehearsed line.

Daisuke prompts, "What happened?"

"He went to the wrong theater," Jun says, while Tomoru and Isedai dissolve into laughter.

Yutaka laughs as well. "In Kuwano-san's defense, it's a common mistake."

Daisuke elbows him. "I can't imagine you running ten blocks."

"Well, no." Yutaka grins. "People typically bring me flowers."

"So, yeah." Isedai shrugs, still smiling at the memory. "I collected Kou-chan, and we headed to the theater after the show. And that was the last time we saw Tsune-kun. He's around, you know, but he's so busy these days it's hard to get ahold of him. Though even he's not as bad as Jun."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Jun looks around the table with affected disgruntlement, given that Daisuke had caught him grinning at various points in Isedai's retelling of what is obviously a crowd favorite. "Surprised how many of us are, honestly. Don't you all have real jobs?"

Tomoru elbows him for that, but Daisuke doesn't even mind. "I'm glad you could all make it." He returns Tomoru's warm smile. Yutaka bumps his shoulder, and Daisuke takes the opportunity to lean against him. Because he can. "I've missed you guys."

Isedai beams at him. "Kou-chan says happy birthday, by the way. And — ah! He asks what you want for your birthday. We didn't actually get you anything, since Tomoru said—"

"We're getting too old for that kind of thing anyway." Jun lifts his wine glass with a weary look.

"Youth is a state of mind," Tomoru says breezily.

"Maybe we can get Takkun to write you a song," Isedai suggests. Jun nearly spits out his drink. Daisuke bites his tongue, trying not to laugh, while Tomoru makes a sound of encouragement.

"He is quite a songwriter," Yutaka agrees. "I heard his last album."

"I know, right?" Isedai says, too enthusiastically to be anything but genuine. "Takkun's brilliant. He could probably come up with something on the spot. I think I saw a piano in the corner—"

"Nobody's writing anybody a song!" Jun splutters. 

"We did already sing Daisuke a song," Tomoru muses. "Two songs for one person might be overkill."

Isedai is already getting up to get Kikuchi's attention; Jun yanks him back down. Yutaka looks from one to the other with a bemused expression.

Daisuke says, "It's fine, really. I appreciate the thought, but — I already got the best present I could have asked for." Tomoru gives him a questioning look. Daisuke smiles at Isedai instead. "I'm just glad to be back."

 

* * *

 

_Tuesday_

He doesn't mean for it to happen.

Asumi had recommended a record store in the area, and Daisuke has nothing to do until later in the afternoon, so here he is. It doesn't even occur to him, until he passes by the shop sign — Green Bean Coffee — and remembers who he ran into, here, a week ago.

But things like that just don't happen everyday. Right?

He's almost ready to believe that, until the coffee shop door opens, and the man that exits says, laughing, "Seeing you in broad daylight is like seeing a vampire. Honestly, Sho. You're hard to get ahold of these days."

"Like you're one to talk," replies that familiar voice. "Last time I saw _you_ was on a billboard."

"Aww, you missed me that much?"

"You wish."

Sho's laughing as he exits after his friend. His jacket is a little rumpled and he's carrying a laptop bag. He's wearing glasses.

The feeling that squeezes his chest makes Daisuke think about what Tomoru said. Except it's not like this hurts. It's something gentler than that.

Sho spots him.

Daisuke offers a quick smile. "Hey."

It gets him one in return. "Long time no see."

The guy with him gives Daisuke a curious look. 

"Ah, this is Yamada Yuuki," Sho says belatedly. "Yuuki, Hirose Daisuke. We worked together, back in the day."

Daisuke recognizes the name — one of Sho's old friends, the kind he tells everything to — and the memory of Shoutarou's sharp smile makes his shoulders tense. Until Yamada says,

"Good to meet you!" Nothing but friendliness. A bit too much, maybe, when he obviously doesn't recognize Daisuke. "Nice weather today, isn't it?"

"Perfect for a long walk," Daisuke agrees. "Though I may have wandered a bit too far. I didn't mean to interrupt..."

"Yuuki's late for a meeting," Sho says, which makes Yamada laugh.

"When am I not." Yamada gives them both a smile. "But point taken. Say hi to Shoutarou for me, yeah? I'll see you around. You, too, Hirose-san."

"Ah." Daisuke is a split second late on returning his bow. "Of course."

"Where are you headed?" Sho asks, after Yamada has left. 

Daisuke tries to remember the name of Asumi's record store, and comes up with a total blank. "Just taking a long walk," he says. It doesn't sound too implausible. Sho doesn't call him out on it. "Are you — going to the office?"

"Yeah, I should." Sho checks his watch. "I was gonna get some food first, though."

Daisuke quashes the urge to supply, _I haven't had lunch either._

Sho glances at him. "Have you eaten?"

Daisuke blinks. "No. Not yet."

Sho tilts his head a fraction of an inch. Daisuke falls into step beside him, and it's just like Saturday — like always — or, at least, the way he might've once imagined it would always be. 

Because that's the thing, right. Talking to Sho is like breathing. Easy. It only hurts when he stops.

They get a couple bentos from the nearest convenience store and eat on a park bench. Sho mentions his own work only briefly, mostly anecdotes about Yamada and other actors whose names Daisuke vaguely remembers. Or maybe he knows them from TV credits, white noise in the background on those nights he fell asleep under Yui's kotatsu.

He catches himself spacing out when Sho says, 

"I'm boring you, aren't I."

"What? No! I was just." But Sho doesn't look offended. If anything, his expression is — _fond_ isn't a word Daisuke wants to think about right now. "Sorry. Food coma, I guess."

"You heading to the studio later?"

"Yeah. There's a masterclass today, so we got bumped to early evening, but Ryuu wasn't free anyway, so—" Daisuke catches himself launching into a story that Sho probably doesn't care about, either. Not that he complains. But then, he wouldn't. He checks that train of thought. "What about you? How's work going?"

"I've been talking your ear off about work, and you're still asking?"

"You were talking about other people, though."

A pause.

Daisuke glances over to find Sho giving him a funny look. "What?"

"Nothing." Sho packs up the remains of his lunch. "You're right. They're not really my coworkers anymore. And I've got a long ways to go before I can start ordering them around."

"Do you miss it?"

"Those idiots?"

"Acting."

And there's that pause again. Daisuke wants to ask, _What happened last year?_ Or maybe, _What is it exactly that you do now?_ But mostly — _Are you happy?_

He says none of those things. Sho musters a wry smile. 

"It wasn't good for me," he replies. "Lots of people told me over the years, I guess, but you have to learn the hard way. I always had a pretty stupid process to begin with. But by the end, I was having a hard time figuring out who _I_ was. Apart from the acting. Which isn't unusual, but. Shoutarou calls it my quarter-life crisis, part two. That brat." The softness of his voice betrays him. "Anyway, I decided to get my act together. My family are pretty happy I finally found a 'real job'."

The air quotes are actually audible. Sho's tone invites him to laugh. Daisuke hears himself ask, 

"And Kenta?"

"Kenta?"

"Is he happy." Daisuke knows he should stop talking. "Is he happy that—" He can't think of another word, "—you quit?"

"We talked about it." Sho leans back against the bench. "He was one of the people who kept saying my method acting wasn't good for me."

Kenta would know, probably. Since he was actually there for most of it. Still, Daisuke thinks, Kenta isn't always right.

Sho used to talk about work as easily as he talked about his friends. They used to be the same thing.

"I should head back to the office soon," Sho says next. 

Daisuke checks the time and is startled to realize they've been sitting here for the better part of an hour. "Of course. I should, too." He packs up his half-finished lunch. He can eat it after practice later.

Sho says, "Actually, I have something for you."

Daisuke pauses. "For me?"

"I was gonna mail it, but since you're here." Sho takes an envelope out of his laptop bag. "Saves me some postage."

There's no address. Nothing at all, except the word _Daisuke_. It's not even sealed yet.

The envelope feels light, mostly empty. Curious, Daisuke opens the flap. A photograph falls out.

"Found it when I was cleaning out my closet the other day," Sho says. "There was a whole box of old stuff. Like, physical address books kind of old. And a bunch of running bets with Tera — you remember Terayama Takeshi? Him and Kishitaku used to make bets like, _Tera bets Takuya that one of them will go bald before 50._ And somehow I always ended up being their bet commissioner."

The photo is one of him. He recognizes the shrine in the background as the one they'd gone to, in Kyoto, all those years ago.

 _For luck,_ Daisuke remembers suggesting. And Sho had said, _For guidance. You make your own luck._

The fortune he'd gotten had been a good one, he remembers. He's holding it, in the photo. In the photo, he's smiling — laughing — one hand reaching toward the camera to stop Sho from immortalizing this moment.

The photo is a little blurry because of that. He blinks hard to keep it from blurring any further.

"I look like a baby," Daisuke manages after too long of a pause.

Sho says, "It was like a million years ago. But you got a good fortune from that shrine, didn't you? I found mine, too."

"It's not even real."

"Yeah, well." Sho's voice implies a shrug. Daisuke doesn't trust himself to look. "I figured it couldn't hurt."

 _Even if he didn't mean to,_ Tomoru had said.

Even so.

Daisuke puts the photo back in the envelope. Allows himself one deep breath, before he looks up. "Thanks. I could use the luck."

 

* * *

 

Here's the thing: Jinnai Sho is thirty-two years old, an ex-actor trying to make it in a world of corporate suits and paperwork, and for all that he has a college degree and the support of his family in his new career choice — some days, he wakes up asking himself what, exactly, it is that he's doing.

It's not that he's unhappy. But resignation is also not the same thing as peace.

It's true, what he'd admitted on Tuesday: inhabiting someone else's hopes and fears, losing himself in character, wasn't enough anymore. Method acting couldn't mask the fact that he'd lost sight of his own dreams — if he'd ever known what they were. Once, he'd thought he'd known. Once, he was content to let the details of life unfurl as they would, so long as he was secure in the knowledge of what he really wanted. And that had never been about his career.

He would've happily retired, taken an office job, moved halfway across the country and back, had Daisuke ever asked or wanted any such thing of him. 

And there's the catch, right — because Daisuke never asked. Daisuke, selfish as he was, never would have wanted him to do that. Daisuke always believed in his work and his creative self, listened to his rants and ramblings and matched him word for word, page by page, living every story as deeply as Sho ever did.

Some days, he misses the person he used to be. Some days, he remembers the person Daisuke always made him feel like he could and wanted to be.

He can almost remember it now, surrounded by old friends like no time has passed. Like the worst of the last ten years never happened. Kenta by his side, the way he's always been, and Shoutarou, too. Isedai and Yutaka carrying conversation with more humor than grace; even Shison — for all his affected detachment — can't help but soften in the face of that much affection.

Daisuke seems happy, at ease.

After cake, and drinks, and too many stories for even Sho to keep track of, the party begins to wind down. They do have work in the morning, after all. Utsumi is the first to leave, begging off early to see about a girl.

Kikuchi and Shison disappear at some point while Sho's talking to Yutaka. And when Yutaka finally goes back to his own seat — by Daisuke — Sho looks to his left and finds Kenta's chair empty. 

He has a split second to wonder. Then Shoutarou sits down next to him.

"Kenta just went to the restroom," Shoutarou says with no preamble. "Relax."

"I'm completely relaxed."

"Yeah, that's not encouraging."

Sho almost asks, _What does that even mean?_ Shoutarou's giving him a long, steady look. He seems a lot older, suddenly, than the memory Sho's been carrying around. And he knows what's coming next, as Shoutarou takes a breath and—

"Jinchan? Or — wow, I don't even know what to call you anymore, huh. Jinnai-kun? Manager-san?" 

It's Isedai. And Shirasu, behind him, looking slightly pained but mostly resigned.

Sho returns Isedai's smile. "Well, what did you call me before?"

"Hey-you-over-there, probably." Isedai laughs when Shirasu elbows him. "Kidding. Really should just call you the master of birthday parties. Listen, I gotta head out, but it's great to see you! We should totally catch up sometime. You still have my number?"

"Yeah," Sho manages, wishing there was a way to say yes to the last part while still denying everything that came before. "Definitely. Great to see you, too. Both of you."

"We'll be seeing you around," Shirasu says. He nods to Shoutarou as well, who returns the gesture with a lazy salute. Isedai beams at them both again, before Shirasu practically shoos him toward the door.

At the other end of the table, Yutaka laughs at something Daisuke said.

Shoutarou says, "Hey, buchou."

He looks up, and Kenta's there. Sho wonders how much he overheard. Shoutarou doesn't move to vacate his seat, and Kenta doesn't ask. He glances around at the half-empty table.

"It's getting pretty late," Kenta notes.

"Where does the time go." Shoutarou checks his watch with exaggerated regret. "You guys wanna split a cab?"

"You don't live anywhere near me," Sho points out.

"Yeah, I do," Shoutarou says quietly. He gets up without waiting for a response. "You really are getting old."

Shoutarou goes to say goodbye to Daisuke. Behind him, Sho hears Kenta typing something on his phone. A soft ping, confirmation.

"Taxi will be here in about seven minutes," Kenta says.

And that's when Sho remembers: Shoutarou lives a couple stops away from Kenta's apartment. It really has been a long time since he's been to Shoutarou's place. Or vice versa.

He and Kenta make their goodbyes. Yutaka hugs them both, and Daisuke smiles at them — as happy as Sho's seen him, since he's returned — while Akazawa notes that they should do this again, soon.

"Not too soon," he hears Daisuke protest, as they walk away. "I've still got another year until I turn thirty!"

"Don't say that too loudly," Akazawa replies. "You'll ruin the illusion."

Their voices fade with the sound of Yutaka's laughter. Shoutarou is already waiting outside. He's on his phone, texting someone, but breaks off when he spots Sho — before giving Kenta a completely incongruous grin.

"Well! Do I have gossip, or do I have _gossip?_ "

Kenta actually smiles a little. "Let's hear it."

And Sho can't remember the last time Kenta indulged Shoutarou in this kind of behavior. But Shoutarou is animated, happily chattering away about Kikuchi and Shison or possibly Shion; he's not listening that closely. 

Kenta only cuts him off when the cab arrives. They pile in, Shoutarou wedged against the far door. As soon as Kenta's given the address to the driver, Shoutarou launches back into his anecdote — with names and places redacted, and Sho gives up on following the story altogether.

It's a relief when the taxi drops Shoutarou off at his place first.

"See you soon," Shoutarou says to Kenta. To Sho, he adds, "You owe me dinner. Don't forget."

He fades in the rear view mirror. The rest of the ride passes in silence.

On the way up to Kenta's apartment, Sho asks, "How much do I owe you? For the cab ride."

"Don't worry about it."

"Come on, it's not like you're making that much more than me."

"There's really no point, is there, keeping score."

Kenta unlocks his door. After a moment, Sho follows him inside. The kitchen light clicks on. He takes off his shoes.

He finds Kenta rummaging around in the fridge. A clink of bottles. He straightens, beer in hand. 

"Want one?"

"Don't you have an early train in the morning?"

"Yes." Kenta opens the bottle on the countertop. "You sure you don't want one?"

"I would, but you need to get to bed."

"Not until we've talked first."

The kitchen clock reads 10:47. Sho can't find it in himself to pretend or ask, _About what?_

Kenta watches him, eyes steady, not smiling.

"All right," he says. "Where do you want to start?"


	9. Eight

He knows what's coming. He's prepared. Kenta can't not ask, after the way he's ignored Sho all night, so he's braced for it when Kenta says—

"Shoutarou." The surprise must register on his face, because Kenta almost smiles. "I'm going to tell you the whole truth, Sho. As best I know it. Shoutarou called me last night."

"I don't remember hearing—"

"You were still at the office."

Of course.

"He'd talked to Yamada Yuuki, who'd run into you earlier and last saw you with an old friend — and then you disappeared for a two hour lunch break." 

And there it is. Sho breathes out. A huff. "I was gone for maybe an hour and fifteen minutes, tops."

"Does it really matter?"

"It does when you're — what are you saying anyway? Are you accusing me of doing something behind your back?"

Kenta looks at him, steady as before. "So you do realize what it sounds like."

"Only because Shoutarou's been on my case for _weeks_."

A pause.

Kenta puts down his beer. "I didn't think there was anything going on for that long."

"There _isn't_. There's nothing going on." Sho doesn't even bother masking his frustration. "I'm not going to make a big deal out of nothing. I thought you trusted me."

"Are you trying to throw my own words back in my face?"

"I'm just saying sometimes—"

"Because I do trust you," Kenta snaps, voice taking on an edge that hadn't quite been audible before. "I _want_ to trust you, and I wanted to at least give you a chance to bring it up yourself."

"I didn't bring it up," Sho says, slowly, "because there's nothing to talk about."

"Nothing to— Do you even hear yourself?"

"What do you want me to say, huh? I ran into Daisuke yesterday — yes, that happened. And since I was on my lunch break, we got food, and I took a breather from the office while I had the chance. Shoutarou has no business keeping tabs on my whereabouts, much less asking other people—"

"And Yutaka?"

"What about Yutaka?"

"You didn't even notice me talking to Yutaka earlier, did you? Too busy trying to pretend Daisuke wasn't looking at you every five seconds."

"And now you're exaggerating."

"I'm not that kind of person. You know that. Yutaka knows that. Everyone knows that, which is probably why no one thought twice about mentioning all the time you've spent with Daisuke this week while I barely saw you for four days."

"I didn't think it was a big deal, okay? But if you really want to know—"

"I _don't care_ , Sho! But _you_ obviously care about it — enough to keep it from me, even when I flat-out ask what you did that day or why you were at the office until past midnight!"

"You think I _enjoy_ sitting in an office for twelve hours a day and putting in overtime on top of it?"

"We used to work longer hours than that."

"Well, I don't do that anymore. But what I do is still work, even if it's not as glamorous, even if it's not as important as whatever it is you think I should be doing instead—"

" _What?_ "

"—and it's not like you've had that much time for me, either!"

"I'm not the one who decided we should spend tonight at yet another surprise party for Hirose Daisuke! And — no." Kenta actually puts up a hand to stop him, or maybe himself. "No. You know that. No. It's nobody's fault that our schedules are what they are."

He could let that go. He could, Sho knows, and Kenta is offering it with open palms. He hears himself say, 

"You ignored me all night because I dragged you to that party."

"Maybe because I didn't really want to be there. Did that ever occur to you?"

"You're the one who called a reunion, and you're always the one who acts nice to everyone, even when you obviously don't mean it—"

"Because I'd _like_ to be that person, all right?" It's phrased like a question, flung like an accusation. "I'm not going to be the person who gets jealous with no provocation, and like hell I'm going to let you blame me for killing the first hint of a social life you've had since your quarter-life crisis of a retirement!"

"So now you're going to tell me off for my career choices? Now?"

"When have I ever been _anything_ but supportive—"

"Because I figured you were maybe the one person who understood why I had to quit! You kept saying it, didn't you? My method acting was terrible for me. You were happy to see me make a new start. Make some new choices. Choose _this_." 

In that moment, Sho isn't even sure if he means his job or — them. 

Kenta's stunned look says he doesn't know either. 

"I was happy," Kenta says, after a pause long enough to be silence, "because that's what you wanted. That's what I thought. You were finally moving on and going after what you want."

"Yeah, well." Part of him knows he doesn't get to blame Kenta. Not for this. "Turns out I didn't want it as much as you thought I did. Sorry."

"And that's _my_ fault, how?"

"I didn't say it was your fault."

"Yeah? Because it kind of sounds like you want to say _I'm_ the reason you can't just pretend the last ten years never happened — now that Daisuke's back and we're reliving some warped version of the past — as if you could just magically reset the clock. It doesn't work like that."

"I know that. You think I don't know that?"

"What do you even miss about him?" Kenta demands. "What, exactly, do you miss about any of it?"

"I don't miss it." It's a lie. Kenta can see right through it. Sho doesn't care. "At least I still knew who I was back then, and I was happier for it."

" _Happier?_ " Kenta sounds like he could laugh, but there's no humor in his eyes. "Happier. Back then. Sho, you were fucking miserable!"

"I was crushed! Yes! I was. I've never been so beaten — but that's only because I'd never _wanted_ anything so bad. I can barely even remember what that feels like, some days, but once upon a time I used to want impossible things. Better things. I actually used to try and _want_ to do better—"

"Meaning what? Meaning this isn't enough of a challenge for you to even _try_ —"

"I didn't have to when you were already there!"

Silence.

The words ring in his head. In his ears. Kenta stares at him like he's seeing a stranger instead of the man he's known all along. Someone had said it, once: Kenta might love him, but Kenta doesn't necessarily _get_ him.

Kenta sees the best side of him. Or, at least, the best of what he wants there to be.

"I've told you before," Sho says, "that I don't deserve you. I wasn't trying to be cute. You _know_ what I'm like. And you still went along with it."

"Don't you dare," Kenta whispers. "Don't you dare try to pin this on me."

"You asked." He tries to breathe, keep his voice steady. "You wanted to talk."

Kenta makes a sound that's not a laugh. "I wanted to clear the air. That's what I meant by _talk_. After all the weird crap that was happening at the party and Shoutarou — but right now, I'm willing to believe that you actually planned the stupid surprise, same way you used to do. When you would have been _happy_ to do something over-the-top like that for him—"

"For the last time, it was Yutaka's idea and he—"

"I don't give a shit whose idea it was! I care that you won't _talk to me_ about this, either because you think I have some hang-ups about what happened with Daisuke — or because you still do." Kenta scrubs a hand over his face, shoulders shaking. It hurts, seeing him like this; but not enough for Sho to stop him from continuing, "That's what we're actually talking about, isn't it? Because you've already decided."

"Decided what?"

"You're leaving." Kenta's hands, braced on the counter behind him. "You decided. But you wanted me to say it. Because — then it wouldn't be your fault, would it? That's what this is." Kenta shuts his eyes, knuckles white against the counter top. "Ten years. _Ten years,_ and you can't even do the decent thing of honestly breaking up with me?"

 _That's not,_ Sho tries and fails to say. What he manages, instead, is, "We've been dating six months."

Kenta — _laughs_ ; the sound is closer to a gasp. 

"I have loved you far, far longer. And you know that."

He does. He always has. 

Which is why.

"Get out," is what Kenta says, finally, not even looking at him. "You can pack up your things later. While I'm gone. Don't be here when I get back."

 

* * *

 

His apartment is quiet, empty in the way of a place unlived in.

Except that's not even true. He'd been here, over the weekend, and on Monday. By the bathroom sink is a single toothbrush in a cup. The fridge is empty. His closet door, still open, the contents of old boxes spilling over the bedroom floor.

Sho sits down on the bed.

For the first time in a long, long while, he breathes out and doesn't think about tomorrow. He's on his own.

And for the first time, maybe — he doesn't mind.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday, he wakes up before his alarm goes off. He makes coffee for himself and heads to work. The lights are still off when he arrives. 

Sakamoto shows up around eight-thirty, with a murmured good morning. Fujiwara stops in minutes later, gives them both a smile, before disappearing into Touya-san's office. No one asks about his day off. He can't imagine telling anyone here; he can't imagine any of them wanting to listen.

There's plenty of work to do, and no one pays him much mind. No one has time for chit-chat. It used to make him feel nervous; today, it makes him feel unnecessary.

Fujiwara said it herself: the office won't fall apart without him.

The day passes in a blur. He's just caught the bus home when his phone pings with a new message:

_I have an audition tomorrow_

The bus lurches into motion, the person next to him flailing for a handhold and excusing himself when they bump into each other. Sho steadies his own feet, writes back to Daisuke,

_Go get 'em._

On Friday, he spends half the morning fighting with the photocopier, and then with the stapler, until Sakamoto gently snaps at him to find some paper clips and run the scripts down to the meeting already, they're about to start.

He makes it with about ten minutes to spare. Someone has already set up the room. Sho places a folder at every seat, glancing once in a while at the name tags arranged around the table. He knows some of the production staff, but most of the cast are new kids he's never worked with. He can imagine their jittery excitement, the start of something new.

He's straightening a name tag when the door opens.

"Good morning— Jinnai-kun?"

It's the director. Sho bows as deep as he can, caught between a wall and the corner of the table. "Suemitsu-sensei. It's been a while."

"I'll say." Suemitsu gives him a warm smile. "How've you been? I heard you're working in the production office now?"

"Yes. Just dropping off the scripts. I'll be out of your hair in a sec." Sho hurriedly places the last two folders, straightening them to line up with the edge of the table.

"Don't worry about it." Suemitsu peers at the name tags, puts his bag down at his seat. "My music director is running late anyway, so we probably won't start until quarter past. You remember Shunsuke?"

"Of course. Wada-sensei is also working with you on this project?"

"Couldn't get rid of him if I tried. And I have."

"Talking about us behind our back again, Suemitsu-san?" says a voice. Sho turns to see a woman he doesn't recognize, but whose comment makes Suemitsu laugh.

"Hayakawa Harumi-san," Suemitsu says by way of introduction. "Our supremely capable costume designer. Harumi-san, Jinnai Sho. He's moved up in the world these days, but Jinnai-kun used to help me translate my ramblings into actual theater. Really great working with an actor who just _got_ what I was trying to do."

"A true talent, then," Hayakawa says, smiling at Sho's weak protest that sensei's work speaks for itself. "It's nice to meet you."

"You as well, Hayakawa-san." Sho checks the time; the rest of the cast and staff will be arriving soon. "If you'll excuse me, I should get back. Suemitsu-sensei, please don't hesitate to call if you need anything else."

"Thanks for your hard work, Jinnai-kun. We should catch up sometime, yeah?"

"Of course." Sho bows again at the door. "It was good to see you."

The exchange stays with him, even after he gets back to his desk. He nearly sends the wrong email to Touya-san — twice — and by half past noon, he decides it's probably best to remove himself from the office for a bit.

Heat rises off the concrete in a dry haze. His tie feels too tight, and his jacket is uncomfortable outside the air-conditioned confines of the building. He wastes precious minutes at the convenience store, debating between his lunch choices. In the end, he gets a coffee from a nearby Starbucks instead.

Dust clings to his glasses, no matter how often he wipes them. He thinks about the contact case he'd left at Kenta's apartment. He should go, tomorrow. Retrieve the rest of his things. Not that he's made much progress on cleaning up his own place.

He's just reached the office when his phone buzzes. The message from Daisuke reads: 

_Utsumi keeps telling me about his girl problems... He seems to think I have relevant experience_

It makes him smile, imagining that conversation.

"So that's where you went."

He looks up to see Shoutarou. He puts his phone away. "I went to get lunch."

"Eat some real food, would you?" Shoutarou holds the door for him, then follows him to the elevator. "Want me to get you something? They'll have food at the cast meeting I'm going to."

"I'm fine." Sho punches the button for his floor. Shoutarou leans against the wall, arms folded. The door closes.

Shoutarou says, "So what's going on?"

"I'm running paperwork, since one of the interns is out and Fujiwara's in meetings all day."

"I meant with you." Shoutarou sounds like he's frowning. Sho doesn't turn to look, watches the floor numbers flashing by instead. Shoutarou says, "Kenta's not responding to my texts."

"He's probably busy."

"He's always busy." 

The elevator doors open. Shoutarou follows him out, and Sho wonders how long he intends to keep this up. The odds of them running into someone they both know is increasing by the second.

A hand on his arm pulls him to a stop.

Sho opens his mouth to snap, _This is none of your business._ But Shoutarou's expression isn't accusing. 

Shoutarou says, "Come with me."

And drags Sho down an adjoining hallway, through a service door, out onto the sweltering fire escape. There's a bowl on the landing, half-filled with cigarette butts. Sho wonders if Shoutarou sneaks out here, sometimes, with Yuuki. Or maybe Shion.

"Bum a cigarette off you?"

"Since when do you smoke?"

"You're the one who dragged me out here." Sho drinks his coffee. Shoutarou is still watching him. "What do you want?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I'm trying to get back to work. Unlike you, I don't have all this downtime to spend on gossip when—"

"Would you just _stop?_ " The frustration in Shoutarou's voice is obvious. "Why do you always— I've known you half my life. You actually think I can't tell when something's bugging you?"

"I said I'm fine."

"Yeah, and that's also what you said last year right before you went and _quit_ on me. Which — your life, your choices. Whatever. I get it. But it'd be a lot easier if you'd just _talk_ once in a while, you know?"

"It's literally been forty-eight hours since I last talked to you."

"At a _birthday party for Hirose Daisuke_."

The coffee cup creaks in his hand. "And that has to do with anything — how?"

A pause. "You keep saying that."

"And you don't seem to hear me."

"On Monday you told me there's nothing going on," Shoutarou says, "and then I find out you've been spending all this time with him, and then you were super weird about it at the party, and now you're doing that thing again."

"Please feel free to be a little less specific."

"You're mad at me, and I don't know why!" Shoutarou nearly shouts at him. "You used to— This is like when you blamed me for being clueless about Daisuke. Which, for the record? Was completely unfair. You never told me anything."

"You never asked."

"Well, I'm asking now." 

"It's none of your business."

"It doesn't work like that, Sho! Either you trust me enough to tell me these things, or else you don't get to blame me when you're the one shutting me out—"

"Why did you tell Kenta I was sneaking around behind his back?"

Shoutarou's mouth snaps shut. 

Sho is aware, distantly, that his nails are digging into his palm. He unclenches his hand.

Shoutarou says, "I didn't—"

"You called him after you ran into Yuuki. I cannot believe you're using even _him_ to nose into my business."

"I ran into Yuuki after his meeting. We got to talking."

"Yeah? About me?"

"He said he'd just seen you."

"Which for some reason you took as permission to call Kenta—"

"Kenta asked if I knew when you'd be getting off work, since you weren't responding to his texts! You were at the office 'til _midnight_ , and I don't care what your workaholic ass is into, that's just too much. Even for you." Shoutarou takes a breath. A hint of anger when he adds, "Also, since when do I need your _permission_ to talk to Kenta?"

Shoutarou is glaring at him now.

Sho says, "You don't," and, "We broke up. Feel free to text him as much as you want."

His coffee has gone cold. He pushes open the door, steps back inside to a welcome blast of AC. Shoutarou doesn't follow him.

 

* * *

 

He gets home before nine and turns off his phone. When he wakes up, still in his work clothes, it's Saturday and the sun is already high in the sky. 

By noon, he has four missed calls from Shoutarou and a dozen new work-related emails.

He picks through the things strewn all over his bedroom floor. A couple good luck charms, from his sister. Old scripts, the margins covered in notes — some in his own handwriting. Photographs and the odd postcard from a friend. Bundles of fan mail that he never had the heart to throw out.

In the afternoon, he gets dressed and goes out for groceries. He takes the extra key off his keychain, keeps it in his wallet for now. There's less to carry, shopping only for himself. Eggs, rice, onions. Coffee, since he's running low. Beer is too heavy to carry. Anyway, it would be too much of a cliche to drink by himself.

Around eight, Shoutarou texts him: _Can we talk?_

He falls asleep rereading an old script — a draft — that Suemitsu-sensei had once given him. _Maybe you can bail me out with some proper characterization,_ Suemitsu had said, laughing. _If I ever finish revising it._

It's not that the story lacks strong characters, Sho thinks. He can see how it should unfold, and it'll make sense, once the proper people are cast.

On Sunday, he gets an email from — of all people — Akazawa Tomoru.

 _drinks monday p.m._ is the subject line. The body of the email reads: _Daisuke of the House of Hirose got a callback for a dance show audition. To celebrate this auspicious occasion and the hard work that Daisuke has put in since returning to Tokyo, your presence is hereby requested on Monday evening at 9:30 for bubbly at Maison. Directions attached._

By the time he finishes reading the email, there are already two replies.

From Isedai: _Unfortunately I can't make it... But Dai-chan! Congratulations!!_

And from Shison: _Do we have to go to Maison. Weren't we just there last week._

Sho checks to see who else is copied on the email. Shirasu, Kikuchi, Utsumi, Yutaka. Most of the people who'd been at the party, on Wednesday.

He makes sure not to hit reply all. _I'll be there._ Then he opens his messages and writes, _When's your callback?_

 _Wednesday morning,_ comes Daisuke's immediate reply.

 _That's great,_ he types and then erases. Same with _Congratulations_ , and _good luck_. Premature, and irrelevant, respectively. 

He settles for, _Go get 'em (part 2: this time it's personal)._

 _Thanks :)_ , Daisuke writes back, like he did before. And, _Aren't sequels always worse tho..._

_Not when it's done well._

He's just hit send when a different message pops up. From Tera — in the group chat. It reads:

_Tokyo, I'm baaaaaack_  
_BTW Seiya you still haven't RSVP'd, are you alive_

_Debatable,_ is the reply from Kishitaku. _I'll track him down tmrw._

Sho puts down his phone. Six months ago, yesterday, he'd gone out with Kenta for drinks after his first day at a new job. Six months ago, today, he'd looked at Kenta over breakfast and asked, _So where do you want to go on Friday?_

He'd actually forgotten. There's a gift-wrapped box in his dresser, a tag that reads: _to Kenta_. He's usually good about remembering.

But Kenta has never been sentimental about that kind of thing, and Sho had learned to stop. At least, he'd learned to put those thoughts aside. But people don't change that easily.

And it doesn't excuse the rest of what happened.

He sends a text to Tera: _You free tonight? I need to talk to you._ Then he throws open the curtains to let the light in, and starts to clean up the mess on his floor.

 

* * *

 

_I'm here! What's your ETA?_

He's running late, because it'd taken longer than he thought to swing by Shibuya and make a return. It would've been faster, probably, to just take the store credit and come back later. At least he'd kept the receipt. 

He figured Tera wouldn't mind; often as not, the tardy one is him. Sho glances around and spots Tera at the far end of the bar. He texts back, _Look to your left_

He makes his way over, sees Tera look at his phone and then, as instructed, to his left. His grin stretches from ear to ear. "I'm back!"

"So you said." Sho takes the seat beside him. "How was your trip?"

"Relaxing, except for the part where I lost my phone. I don't have any pictures from the first two days."

"You made up for it with the rest of the week."

"Shut up," Tera says good-naturedly. The bartender comes by with two beers. "I got you one while I was waiting, hope you don't mind."

"Never say no to a free drink."

"That's a rule for single people," Tera laughs. "Pay for your own drinks."

Sho drinks his beer, because that's easier than pretending to laugh. "This from the person who used to clean out my liquor cabinet on the regular."

"Right. I wasn't dating anyone back then."

A pause.

"Who's the lucky girl?"

"We really haven't talked in that long?" Tera doesn't seem offended. If anything, he looks positively delighted at the opportunity. "I don't think you know Nao. We worked together a couple times, way back when, but then she went back to school and now she's doing TV. She's super smart. You'd like her."

"She sounds way out of your league."

"Yeah." Tera smiles at nothing in particular. "Kensho said the same thing. We went on a double date last month. Though they're a little — how do I put this? Permanently stuck on honeymoon mode." Sho snorts, because he can just imagine. Tera laughs. "But it's fun. Hey, you should bring Kenta sometime!"

Sho puts down his beer. "About that."

"No, no, I know, but we're all theater or ex-theater, so it won't be a problem. Kenta actually knows Nao. And you both know—"

"It's not that." The quizzical look Tera's giving him is making the words stick in his throat. He has to say it, because there's a group chat on his phone with Kenta listed among the recipients, and there's no reason for Kishitaku to track down Seiya when—

"We broke up."

The pause goes on for one second, two.

"Oh, shit." Tera nearly spills the contents of his man purse all over the bar in his haste to find his phone. Sho moves his beer out of the way. "I'll react properly in a sec, sorry. I just need to—"

"Yeah. Sorry you went through all the trouble getting everyone—"

"Huh?" Tera looks up from his phone.

"The thing next week," Sho says, and Tera's brow furrows further. "We're not still meeting up, are we? Seeing as. I mean."

"It's not _actually_ an anniversary party for you," Tera says, tapping away at his phone. "We haven't met up in a long time anyway. Though — damn. I guess Kenta's not gonna be there, huh?"

"I don't know if I should be either."

"You should, if you're free. We're not cancelling the reunion. I just needed to delete an email I was gonna send Kenta about, well. It's not relevant anymore." Tera puts his phone away. His expression turns serious. "So. What happened?"

"He kicked me out." It's technically true. Sho hates himself for saying it. But he's also not lying when he adds, "It's been a long time coming."

Tera waits for him to continue. Sho isn't sure what else to add.

Tera asks, "How are you doing? You okay?"

"I'm fine. Actually, there's another reason I wanted to talk to you." He opens his bag — pushes aside the shopping bag inside, finds the envelope. It's unmarked. He puts it on the bar. "Can you give this to Kenta when you see him?"

"Sure," says Tera, and only then, "What is it?"

"Some stuff I need to tell him. But he probably won't want to talk to me for a long time."

Tera's never been good at hiding his worry. It's written all over his face now. 

"What happened with you two? I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want. But I always thought... I can't believe he actually kicked you out."

He can practically hear the part that Tera doesn't say: _Kenta's been in love with you since forever._

And now, six months later, Sho is sitting at a bar on a Sunday night saying,

"We're not a good match. I think we both knew that. We never had time for each other, even before I started this stupid job, and lately it's just gotten worse. And it's not like Kenta's the kind of person who'll put a relationship ahead of his career." 

_Not even for me._ Not that he has a right to think anything of the sort. 

He picks at the sticker on his beer bottle. "Anyway, can't blame him. He actually likes what he does. But it's like we started dating not because we actually wanted to. There was just no reason we couldn't. And that's not good enough. It's not fair to anyone, and I don't want to be that person." 

The sticker starts to come off. "We had a huge fight just before he left. But I didn't actually get to say any of that to him, so." He shrugs at the letter. "It's all in there."

Tera looks at the envelope he's holding. He slides it back over.

"Give it to him yourself," Tera says. "That kind of thing really shouldn't be going through me."

"You'll see him before I do."

"Honestly, Sho? I don't think he wants to read something like that right now. Especially when it sounds like it's been weighing on you for a long time, and you never said anything to him about it. You didn't, did you?"

It's phrased like a question, but there's no uncertainty in the way Tera says it. Sho drinks his beer. It's answer enough.

"I didn't know you were that unhappy," Tera says, voice low.

"I was trying not to be. For what it's worth."

"That kinda makes it worse, to be honest." Tera sighs. He sounds a little confused now, when he says, "And I thought you liked your job. I mean, it's only been like half a year. Did something happen at work?"

"No." He doesn't know how to explain without saying, _Daisuke came back._ It barely makes sense, even to him. "Work is—" He can't bring himself to say _fine_. "—it is what it is."

"A couple months ago, you were calling it a new chapter in your life."

"Yeah, well. Maybe I got the story wrong."

"You always do that," Tera says. But there's no accusation in the way he says it. "And then you get stuck in the stories you tell yourself."

"I know. The method acting was bad for me. That's why I quit."

"Yeah, but it's not like you can quit being yourself."

It's one of the more horrifically cheesy things Tera has ever said to him. Sho finds that he can't even argue with it. 

"Are you gonna be okay?" Tera asks next.

And why wouldn't he be? He's the one who broke his best friend's heart. "I'm more worried about Kenta."

"I have enough worry to spare," Tera says matter-of-factly. "I'm always around, you know, if you want to talk. I don't think you should be alone right now."

"I'm not alone," Sho says. Not when there are multiple people wondering what the hell he's doing with his life. He puts the letter back in his bag. "Thanks. But I'll be fine."

 

* * *

 

_Kenta,_

_There are some things I need to tell you. I don't get to ask you to listen to me, but I want to tell you. Allow me to be selfish one more time._

_I once asked you how many people are truly happy, professionally and personally, and you told me that I have high standards. I think what you meant to say was I have unrealistic expectations. But you were always too kind to blame me for something like that, even though you would have been right._

_You know me too well, I think. I'd like to believe I know you pretty well, too, but maybe the problem is that I still don't really know myself. I tell myself stories of who I should be, not always based on fact. With all that in my head, all the time, it hasn't left me with a lot of room for actual self-reflection. I've tried to think through it, properly, these past few days._

_I know that I'm a lucky person. I have a supportive family, a stable job, and someone who's loved me all this time. And still, I can't help wanting more. You're rolling your eyes at me right now; I can see it. I deserve that. I've never dealt well with that kind of feeling. I don't know if I can call it ambition, when I did nothing about it. It turned into a kind of discontent. Even I don't want to be around me when I'm like that._

_I don't regret the lessons I've learned, through all the things that have gone wrong. I regret hurting you, in the process of learning what I needed to learn._

_I ran into Suemitsu Kenichi-sensei at the office the other day. He joked that I'd moved up in the world. Or maybe he wasn't joking, but that's the way it felt, to me. It had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the way I question myself, and why I'm doing any of this._

_It was wrong of me to blame you for the things that are bothering me, about my career and where I am in life. I told Shoutarou the other day that I don't need someone to look after me; I don't get to blame people for failing to save me, when that's never been anyone's job but my own._

_You've saved me in a hundred, thousand ways over the years. Thank you, for always being by my side. Thank you, for telling me hard truths when I needed to hear them. Thank you, for putting up with the worst in me and giving me the benefit of the doubt._

_And I'm sorry. For abusing that trust, and taking your friendship for granted, and letting things get to this point. I couldn't properly appreciate you when I was too wrapped up in my own head to tell left from right and spending all my time pretending things were fine. I'm sorry for starting something I couldn't see through to any end but this._

_I'm sorry. It's selfish of me to ask, but I hope that someday you'll be able to forgive me._

_Until then,_  
_Sho_

 

* * *

 

He doesn't blame Shoutarou. Not exactly. He can't, when he knows — even if he didn't want to admit — that this was never going to work out. It would have been nice, if he were the kind of person willing to settle for a good thing. But he's not. 

He hasn't given up. Not yet. And if that's not fair to Kenta, well. None of this was ever fair to begin with.

Tera's right: it's not like either of them can change who they are.

On Monday, he stuffs his tie into his bag before leaving work. It doesn't make him feel much better, but at least he looks less like a salaryman. Nothing to be done about the briefcase; he's already running late.

For all of Shison's protestations, they'd ended up at the place Akazawa originally suggested. According to the email chain, Shirasu is teaching a class and also can't make it. But the others are there: Akazawa by Daisuke's side, along with Shison. Utsumi is listening to Daisuke's animated retelling of some story with a look of boredom.

And next to Utsumi — is Shoutarou.

Sho tries and fails to parse what, exactly, happened there. He'd double-checked the invitees at least three times. Shoutarou wasn't copied on any of the emails.

Shoutarou spots him first. All he does is nod in greeting. Which gets Utsumi's attention. And when Utsumi says, "Oh. Hey, Jinnai" — Daisuke turns his head as well. 

The way Daisuke's face lights up is almost enough to make him forget his misgivings.

"Hey," says Daisuke. "You made it."

"You came straight from the office?" Shoutarou asks.

"Some of us actually have real jobs," Shison sighs, not looking up from his phone. Akazawa elbows him, and Shison takes long enough of a break from texting to add, "Good to see you, Jinchan."

"Congrats," Sho says to Daisuke, which gets him another brilliant smile. "Did I miss the story of how it went?"

"No, I was just telling these guys—"

"Get a drink and join the merriment." Shoutarou slides out of his seat. "I'll come with you."

Sho starts to protest that Shoutarou hasn't even finished the beer in front of him — but Utsumi says, "Could you get me a glass of water?" 

Shoutarou throws a lazy salute. "Coming right up."

Which leaves him with no choice but to follow Shoutarou to the bar. 

"What are you having?" Shoutarou asks, skimming the drinks list posted on the wall.

"I don't know." Sho glances at the list. "The usual. Or whatever's cheapest."

Shoutarou catches the bartender's attention. "Two Teikoku IPAs, please. Put it on my tab."

"You don't have to do that."

"I do, actually." 

They watch the bartender take two glasses off the shelf. 

Sho asks, "Why are you here?"

"Celebrating Dai-chan of Hirose on his glorious return to show biz. An auspicious occasion." Shoutarou leans against the bar, finally looks at him. "Relax. Daisuke invited me."

"Really."

"Yeah, really." The bartender places two full glasses before them. Shoutarou grabs a couple coasters. "What? You think I crashed this just to track you down and drag an explanation out of you?"

He wouldn't put it past Shoutarou. And that's not a charitable thought. He's not feeling particularly charitable right now.

"Thanks for the drink," he says.

Shoutarou covers the glass with his hand before Sho can take it. A pause.

"Where's Yutaka?" Sho asks. "Didn't expect him to miss this."

"He's out of town. And Kikuchi has a thing tonight."

"Keeping tabs on everyone again, huh."

"It's called staying in touch with your friends," Shoutarou says. "Something that I happen to be very good at. Because I genuinely care about you fools, which is more than some people can claim."

"What's your point?"

"Did you really break up with Kenta?"

He could have seen that coming from a mile away. It doesn't stop him from replying, "What makes you think he didn't break up with me?"

"Did he?"

"Does it matter?"

"Guess not." Shoutarou removes his hand from Sho's drink. He's looking at the coasters. "Was it because of what I said?"

"Don't give yourself too much credit."

"I just want to know why. Am I not allowed to ask?" The words aren't accusing. If anything, Shoutarou sounds — scared. And that doesn't make any sense. "I get if you're mad at me, but it'd be nice if you'd tell me _why_. I can't fix it if I don't know."

"I don't need you to fix me." Because it's none of his business. Also because it's not actually his fault. It would be easier to blame Shoutarou, but. "There's a million reasons why Kenta and I would've broken up eventually. This just happens to be how it turned out."

"That's what I don't get. You were happy."

"I was getting by. That's not the same thing."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Shoutarou asks. "All this time, and you never even mentioned. And then all of a sudden—"

"It's always been like this," Sho snaps, because for all that Shoutarou insists they're friends, there's some part of him that's just never understood. "And I've finally remembered that it isn't just about getting by. Sometimes it's about getting what you actually want, or at least making a damn good effort. So that's what it is, and that's all there is to it. I'd rather be someone who tries, because then I'd be deserving of other people who do the same."

Sho picks up his drink to head back to the table. 

Shoutarou grabs his arm. "I can't believe you. This is because of _Daisuke?_ "

"I just told you it's n—"

"You let him ruin your life once, wasn't that enough?" Shoutarou's voice is a hiss. "Yeah, he's here now, but what makes you think he's gonna stay? What happens when — _when_ , not if — he leaves again? Huh?"

Sho wrenches his arm free. "I didn't ask for your advice."

"Well maybe you should have! Because I can tell you right now, this is about the stupidest idea you've ever had, and that's saying something considering—"

"You want to be someone I can trust?" Sho demands. "Yeah? Then start acting like it. Because I don't need this right now. Not from you."

Shoutarou looks like he's been slapped.

Which is ridiculous, Sho thinks. If anything, he's the one who should be feeling angry. Betrayed. 

"Don't forget Utsumi's water," Sho says, and heads back to the table where Daisuke is waiting.


	10. Nine

"Catch."

Daisuke looks up just in time to avoid getting hit in the face with a towel. He grabs it with both hands, and sees Utsumi grinning at him as he saunters over. 

"Thanks," Daisuke says, and maybe it comes out more like a question than he intends because Utsumi's grin widens. 

"No prob." Utsumi drops to the floor next to him with an exaggerated sigh, flapping his damp shirt to cool off. "God, this sucks."

Daisuke wipes the sweat from his own face. "Still no luck with the AC?"

"Asumi's calling a repair guy, but doesn't sound like he's in any hurry to get here." Utsumi glances at the clock on the wall. "Got maybe another hour before people start passing out from the heat and we shut down for the day."

"It's not that bad," Daisuke protests. He's worked under worse conditions. Most people have. The studio is warm, sure, and everyone's a little more irritable than they otherwise might have been, but that's no reason to cancel practice.

Utsumi snorts. "I know you're like all hot and bothered about making your glorious comeback, Hirose. But as someone who's getting up there in years, you gotta start looking after yourself."

"You know I'm only a year older than you, right?"

"How late did the party go last night?"

"Not too late." Technically — yes, he'd stayed up past midnight texting Yutaka, but they'd cleared out of the restaurant not long after everyone else went home. "Anyway, it's just a day."

"You act like taking a day off makes us slackers or something."

"I didn't mean to imply—"

"Hey, worst come to worst," Utsumi continues breezily, "you can always ask Shirasu if he'll let you practice with his studio or something. Doubt they'll let _me_ in the door, given our history. But he likes you well enough."

"We're just friends," Daisuke snaps reflexively — before realizing that Utsumi is grinning at him. As if he expected that. Daisuke makes a face at him. "Shut up."

Utsumi snickers. "You're such a weirdo." There's nothing mean in the way he says it; if anything, Utsumi sounds almost fond. And the fact that that's _not_ completely shocking — not anymore — is bizarre in and of itself. "Seriously, though, you should ask Shirasu. They got some pretty sweet real estate when they moved shop. New place is twice the size of this dump."

"I like it here." 

"What?"

"I like working with Ryuu," Daisuke says, trying not to laugh at Utsumi's perplexed expression. "Asumi-san is a great teacher. I like the creative vibe. And you're okay, too, I guess."

"Oof." Utsumi claps a hand over his heart. "Me, your oldest friend in the joint. And I only rank as 'okay'?"

"Think of it as room for improvement."

"Damn, that's cold." Utsumi's tone is still mocking, but his grin fades. Daisuke wonders if he actually hit a nerve, as Utsumi falls silent, watching the half-dozen people practicing around the room. Before Daisuke gets a chance to do anything like apologize — or ask what's wrong — Utsumi bounces back onto his feet. 

"I'm gonna get some water for these fools before they actually pass out. Lend a hand."

He doesn't even wait for Daisuke to agree, just heads to the door. Daisuke puts his towel aside with the rest of his things and follows him downstairs. 

Outside, the heat is starting to rise off the pavement. Utsumi is right: in another hour or two, it'll be much too hot in the studio to continue practice.

 _Or maybe I am getting old,_ Daisuke thinks wryly. He wonders how he'll feel in another year when he's actually thirty. He wonders if he'll get to spend that birthday, too, with his friends. Yutaka and Jin and Tomoru. Maybe Jun. Maybe even Utsumi. And Sho.

At the convenience store, Utsumi heads straight for the cold drinks. Juice, water, soda. Daisuke almost makes a quip about smoothies — and thinks better of it. They get as many bottles as they can carry; Utsumi keeps the receipt.

The studio is still uncomfortably warm when they get back. There are two fans set up in opposite corners, both turned up to the highest setting.

"Mai took the rest for her class last week and never brought them back." Asumi accepts the soda Daisuke hands her, condensation dripping to mingle with sweat. She glances at Utsumi — who's studiously paying her no attention — and raises her voice a notch to add, "It'd be great if someone could get ahold of Mai-chan."

"She's probably busy," Utsumi says, after a long enough pause for even Daisuke to feel uncomfortable. "Call her later or something."

More than a couple people roll their eyes, but nobody says anything.

Asumi catches Daisuke's eye, gives him a meaningful look that Daisuke doesn't quite know how to return.

Even so, Utsumi catches him an hour later — as Asumi shoos everyone out of the now blisteringly hot studio — and hauls him along for a late lunch. "Soba," Utsumi decides, not even bothering to ask for his input. Daisuke doesn't argue. Even pureed fruit sounds pretty good at this point.

"Just so you know," Utsumi says, with no prompting whatsoever, halfway through their meal, "we _are_ friends, and I'm not as selfish as some people seem to think I am."

Daisuke nearly drops his chopsticks. "Um. I never meant—"

"I don't care what Asumi's been telling you," Utsumi continues, scowling at his food. "I think I've done all right by Mai, so whatever her problem is, it's _her_ problem. Wish I could tell you it's just women and their freaky cycles syncing up or whatever, but I'm not that kinda guy, so I'm just saying — don't believe anything she tells you. Or Ryuu. She's got him brainwashed."

Daisuke tries — and fails — to parse any part of that. "Mai's got Ryuu brainwashed?"

"No, Asumi." The _obviously, dumbass_ is heavily implied. Utsumi slurps up a mouthful of noodles. "Mai's just being a bitch."

"What happened?"

"She thinks I'm being _selfish_ , just because I don't have time to go to every single one of her students' stupid dance recitals. Oh, they're calling them 'shows', but when half the audience are your relatives, I don't think you've got any right to charge people money."

"Ah," says Daisuke, for lack of any better ideas.

"Yeah," Utsumi agrees, sighing heavily. "Anyway, _you_ know I'm not like that. Good thing you've been gone all this time, honestly. Gives you an objective outlook, unlike those idiots back there."

Daisuke decides there's no appropriate response to that. He resumes eating. 

He wonders if Utsumi realizes how hard he's taking his girlfriend's accusation, his self-righteous indignation aside. Daisuke thinks back on the random acts of out-of-character-ness that Utsumi's been displaying. The towel, the drinks. Maybe even the fact that Utsumi bothered to show up at the birthday party, yesterday.

He wonders how long they've been fighting.

"So hey, did I mention?" Utsumi interrupts his train of thought. "Friend of mine — I mean, we're not buddy-buddy or anything, but he's a cool dude. Yamazaki Kensho. Maybe you've heard of him? No? Well, you have been out of the loop for like a million years. Anyway, he's putting together a dance show. Nothing fancy. But it's a decent gig. I can get you into the auditions, if you want."

Daisuke stares at him.

Utsumi says, "You don't have any schedule conflicts tomorrow, right?"

"Yes! I mean, no — I'm totally free tomorrow." Daisuke reigns in the sudden rush of giddiness before he does something stupid. Like, hug Utsumi. They might be friends, but they're not _that_ close. "That would be — you really can get me into the auditions?"

"Well, yeah." Utsumi looks impossibly pleased with himself. "Like I said, he's a friend of mine. I'll give him a call."

"Thank you." Daisuke doesn't know what else to add, apart from, " _Thank you._ "

 

* * *

 

By early evening, Utsumi has texted him the time and place of the auditions, along with unsolicited advice to _keep in mind they're not looking for anything flashy, so. Be yourself but don't be TOO yourself_.

Daisuke is too wired to be offended by the implication. 

He thanks Utsumi, then calls Ryuu to see if he's free for a last-minute session in the morning. Ryuu agrees with his usual amicability, completely unfazed by the time crunch. 

It's not until much later — as he's jogging up and down the stairs to work off his excess energy in an attempt to get at least _some_ sleep — that it occurs to Daisuke, maybe he should call Jin. Or Tomoru. Ryuu is a great choreographer, and Utsumi has proven to be an unexpected ally, but what he really needs is someone to _talk_ to. 

That much hasn't changed.

Back in his room, Daisuke picks up his phone to text Jin. Tomoru would be happy for him, he knows. Yutaka would be ecstatic — and, consequently, likely to keep him up half the night talking about a million irrelevant things. Jin, at least, can be trusted to stay on topic. He's the most logical person to talk to.

Daisuke finds himself texting Sho instead.

_I have an audition tomorrow_

He hits send before he can second guess himself. It feels right, is all he can think, as he sits cross-legged on the low bed. The AC sends a chill down his back, sweat cooling from his impromptu workout. 

His phone buzzes:

_Go get 'em._

That's all. 

It's enough. 

Daisuke falls back against the pillows, phone clutched to his chest. It's enough. It's not that he needed reassurance, or distraction, or something to hold to. Like some good luck charm. No. Luck has nothing to do with hard work or faith. 

And as long as he has those two things, Daisuke thinks, he's going to be just fine.

 

* * *

 

"—so I didn't really sleep all that well, and I probably should've cut the session with Ryuu short by about an hour and a half, but honestly, I don't think it would've made much of a difference. I just needed to be _doing_ something — maybe it's like all the time I spent _not_ doing anything finally caught up with me, all at once, so when I finally got to the audition—"

"Whoa, whoa," Yutaka laughs. "Slow down! If you danced as fast as you're talking now, you would've left everybody else in the dust!"

"I'd never rush a group number," Daisuke retorts. Yutaka just laughs at him again, a sound full of fondness and delight. And that, if nothing else, makes Daisuke take a pause and a breath.

"So," Yutaka says, "you got to the audition, and?"

"And — well. I think they were mostly looking for people who could follow directions, quickly and accurately."

"You're a quick study."

"Yeah." Daisuke smiles to himself. "And I got an email this morning — they asked me to come in Wednesday, for callbacks."

"That's wonderful!" Yutaka's exclamation is loud enough to turn a few heads, on a busy street full of tourists and pedestrians. "Oh my god, Dai-chan! Congrats!"

"It's just a callback," Daisuke says, but he can't seem to stop smiling. 

He doesn't care, either, when Yutaka stops dead in his tracks, pulling him into a hug tight enough to knock the breath out of him. Daisuke hugs him right back. Other people can stare all they want; they don't know him, the way Yutaka does, and they certainly don't know what he's been through to get here.

"I'm so, so proud of you." The fierce affection in Yutaka's voice takes his breath away all over again. "You don't even know. I'm so glad."

There's a tell-tale tightness in his throat, and Daisuke extricates himself before Yutaka can actually make him cry in the middle of the street.

"I know," he manages. "Anyway, like I said. It doesn't mean I'll get it or anything."

"I'm glad you're doing well," Yutaka says as they walk on. His voice is softer now, but Daisuke sticks close enough that he can hear clearly. "I was so happy when you came back, but it's even better to have you back. You know?"

"I was already planning to stay," Daisuke reminds him.

"No, I know that." Yutaka is smiling at nothing in particular. "It's just, you're finally happy. Like you used to be, before that awful winter and everything."

Daisuke doesn't ask which winter he means, and Yutaka doesn't elaborate. Doesn't need to. Yutaka had been there, after all, and Yutaka had been the first to notice. It'd taken Daisuke months, and years, afterwards, to admit and accept as much: that he'd been depressed, and needed help, and trying to tough it out on his own just wasn't working anymore.

He's always needed someone to talk to, if nothing else.

This time, it's Daisuke who reaches for Yutaka's hand. It seems strange now, to think that he could have gone so long without his friends. But he had. And he'd had Yui — good old Yui, with her no-nonsense manner and efficient way of looking after people. And hard as it had been, it had forced him to grow up.

But he's outgrown that now. He made the right decision, coming back to Tokyo.

Because in this, too, Yutaka is right: Daisuke hasn't felt this way — this reckless, unfettered happiness — in far, far too long.

Yutaka squeezes his hand, once, then abruptly swings his arm like they're both children. Daisuke barely manages to get a protest out between laughs, pulled along by the motion, and it's ludicrous — but it's Yutaka, and somehow, that makes it all right. 

"Our Dai-chan is back," Yutaka crows, and Daisuke thinks, _Yes. Yes, I am._

 

* * *

 

"Drinks," Tomoru declares, taking his phone out almost before Daisuke has gotten to the end of his story. "Tomorrow night. Attendance mandatory. I'll note that in the email." 

"I'm sure people are busy," Daisuke tries, even as Kikuchi says, "Ah, actually, I have a thing tomorrow."

Tomoru and Daisuke turn to him simultaneously. Kikuchi sips his coffee, or maybe tries to hide behind it. 

"Well," Tomoru says slowly, "I know Jun is free tomorrow tonight…"

"It's not that! Uh." Kikuchi glances around the half-empty Starbucks, as if expecting the object of discussion to suddenly pop out from behind the counter. Or, more likely — Daisuke thinks — saunter in wearing sunglasses and a fake mustache.

Not that either would've masked him to his friends. There's something about Jun that makes him and incognito a poor fit. Star quality, if Daisuke is being generous. 

Kikuchi says, "I have a session in the recording studio. It's been kind of hard getting everyone together, with our schedules lately, so as much as I'd like to…"

"I guess that's a valid reason." Tomoru's fingers fly over the phone keyboard. "Copying you on the email anyway, in case you finish up early. So, you, me, Jun. Who else?"

"Utsumi," Daisuke says. Not that he hasn't seen enough of Utsumi, who seems to have no social life outside of his girlfriend — who's still not talking to him. But he did get Daisuke into the audition. And they're friends, one way or another. "You have his email?"

"Mmhm." Tomoru doesn't even bat an eye. "Utsumi Daisuke. Plus Kobayashi-san. Jinnai. And Isedai?"

"Kou-chan?" suggests Kikuchi.

"Isedai will tell Kou-chan. I don't know if Jin can make it, but no harm in asking." Tomoru finishes typing and sends the email. A moment later, Daisuke's phone buzzes. 

Kikuchi glances at his phone as well. "We might as well get the rest of the gang sometime, huh?" His tone is mostly joking. "I haven't seen Tsune-kun in ages."

Daisuke glances at Tomoru, who just shrugs. "He's hard to get ahold of these days."

Huh, Daisuke thinks. He files it away for later.

Their phones buzz again. An email from Isedai — who can't make it — and from Jun: 

_Do we have to go to Maison. Weren't we just there last week._

"Yes, Junjun," Tomoru sighs at the email, "I know it must be difficult, lowering your standards for your uncultured friends."

"You guys go there often?" Kikuchi asks.

"Not as often as he makes it sound." Tomoru scrolls through his emails. "I took Daisuke there for a drink, and Jun stopped by for a bit. I think it was — last Sunday?"

"Monday," Daisuke supplies, glancing at his phone as it buzzes again. "It was after…" He trails off when he sees the text from Sho.

_When's your callback?_

Daisuke writes back, _Wednesday morning._

"That's right," Tomoru says serenely. "Jun said he was pretty tired after being out late the night before. He's certainly living an exciting life."

"Ah. I mean." Kikuchi clears his throat. "He seems pretty busy, mostly."

"You seen him lately?" Tomoru asks, with barely any inflection.

"Yeah. That is, we've run into each other a couple times. It's been nice, you know, catching up. With everyone. Now that Daisuke's back and everything. Kind of feels like old times."

"Really does," Tomoru says agreeably. 

Daisuke watches the speech bubble on his phone, telling him that Sho is typing, typing, typing… And then: 

_Go get 'em (part 2: this time it's personal)._

Daisuke bites back a smile. It's just one line, but he can practically hear Sho's voice, a laugh lurking just behind the deadpan. _Thanks :)_ , he writes back. _Aren't sequels always worse tho…_

"—see you guys soon, hopefully. Daisuke?"

He glances up. Kikuchi and Tomoru have both gathered up their things, obviously waiting for him. 

"Oh, yeah. Um." Daisuke grabs his coffee as well. Belatedly, he tells Kikuchi, "Good luck with recording, by the way. Hope it goes well."

"Thanks." Kikuchi gives him a smile. "And good luck at your callback, if I don't see you before then."

"Don't be a stranger," Tomoru calls after him as he walks away.

Daisuke glances down at his phone. The text from Sho reads, 

_Not when it's done well._

"I'd ask who you're texting, but it seems redundant." Tomoru gently nudges Daisuke in the direction of their bus stop. 

Daisuke pockets his phone, makes a face at the knowing look Tomoru gives him. "I text people all the time."

"And some of them even respond," Tomoru notes, teasing. "Scandalous."

"I liked it better when you were bullying Kikuchi."

"I would never. With his glass heart?" The corner of Tomoru's lip twitches, belying his words. Daisuke suppresses a giggle. "I'm just glad you're all doing well for yourselves."

"What about you?" Daisuke asks. 

"Me?"

"How are you doing? For yourself."

Tomoru shrugs and says nothing. The silence goes on for so long, Daisuke seriously considers pressing him for an answer; he's used to his friend being evasive, elliptical — but not obvious. It's unsettling.

They've almost reached the bus stop when Tomoru says, "You don't need to worry about me, Dai-chan."

"What? I'm not—"

"It takes time," Tomoru says. "I think you understand that better than anyone, maybe. It takes a damn long time to get over something like this. But I'll be okay."

It's more of an answer than Daisuke expected — though it raises even more questions — and he's caught off guard long enough for the bus to pull up. Tomoru gives him a quick smile.

"See you tomorrow night, yeah?"

"Yeah," says Daisuke, automatic. "Of course."

Tomoru disappears into the stream of people boarding and disembarking. It's not until after the bus has turned a corner, out of sight, that Daisuke figures out the question he wanted to ask: 

_Is Tsune-kun really so busy that he doesn't even have time for Tomoru?_

 

* * *

 

 _I'll be back on Friday,_ reads Yutaka's email. _Dinner on me, no arguments! Let me know how it goes, okay?_

Even with Yutaka out of town, Jin teaching a class, Isedai and Kuwano both unavailable, and Kikuchi being evasive about his recording session — it's still a decent number of people on such short notice. Tomoru, Jun, Utsumi. Sho. He's getting spoiled, Daisuke thinks; the way things are going, he'll start expecting to see all his friends at least once a week.

Then again, why shouldn't he? People change. But friends stay. 

"Let's get ramen before we head over," Utsumi says, packing up his things. "That bar doesn't sound like it has food, and I'm starving."

It's almost become a routine. He's spent more time with Utsumi than — well, just about anyone, these last couple of days. Asumi's meaningful looks are starting to get out of control, and Daisuke still isn't sure what, exactly, she expects him to do about the situation.

He'd mentioned it to Ryuu, on the off-chance _he_ might have an idea. All Ryuu said was, "Ah, yes. Umi-kun does have that quality about him."

Even if Daisuke wanted to file that one away for later, he wouldn't know what to file it under.

It's not that he minds. Utsumi has been been moodier than usual, prone to sudden bouts of misguided philosophy — "Women are just super weird about relationships. Though I guess guys aren't much better, huh?" — but mostly, he and Daisuke manage to keep each other entertained with idle gossip. 

Today, though, he zips up his bag and tells Utsumi, "I'm actually gonna head home first. But I'll see you there at 9:30?"

Utsumi gives him a blank look, as if he can't quite comprehend what's happening.

Daisuke shoulders his bag, picks at the sweaty t-shirt sticking to his skin. "I really need a change of clothes."

"Oh." That, at least, Utsumi seems to understand. "Yeah, fair. Speaking of which, this place we're going to — Mason whatever — it's not like, super fancy or anything, right?"

"You'll be fine." Daisuke holds back a grin. "Just don't show up in socks and sandals or anything."

That makes Utsumi snort. "You wish." He follows Daisuke out the door. "Contrary to stereotype, straight dudes do have some sense of style."

"Good on you," Daisuke replies gravely, "representing the minority." 

Utsumi replies with a rude gesture, but snickers along with him anyway. 

They part ways at the intersection. Daisuke walks past shops in the fading light, evening made darker by buildings set in the path of the setting sun. The smells from eateries make his stomach rumble — reminding him that it has, in fact, been a long time since lunch.

There's enough time to pick up a bento or something, Daisuke figures. 

He checks his phone while waiting in line at the convenience store. Jin sent along some video clips, after Daisuke asked for help with his upcoming callback. This one will require something a bit flashier than the group audition.

 _If you ever want to come by our studio,_ Jin had written. _We have open practice twice a month._

"—overreacting. I've literally been telling you for years that you're way too invested. Seriously. Anyone would think that _you're_ the one who broke up with him."

The voice drifts across the aisle, just loud enough for Daisuke to pick out a word here or there. He glances over his shoulder, out of curiosity — and freezes, even as he hears a very familiar voice retort, 

"I'm straight, thanks." 

The guy talking to Shoutarou rolls his eyes. "We've definitely been over this."

"Yeah, and just because we landed on opposing sides—" Shoutarou glances up then, and spots who's ahead of them in line. "Daisuke."

The guy with him gives Daisuke a curious look.

Daisuke manages a smile. "Hey, Shoutarou." He wonders what's taking the cashier so long to ring up whatever customer's been holding things up for the last couple of minutes. "How've you been?"

"I'm fine. Oh, this is Arata Shihou." Shoutarou turns to his friend. "Shihou, Hirose Daisuke. We did that tennis thing way back when."

"You're acting like you don't still lord it over the kids," his friend — Arata — remarks. He smiles at Daisuke. "Nice to meet you, Hirose-san."

"Same." Daisuke tries not to let his surprise show. They're having a perfectly normal conversation. And if that's weird for him and Shoutarou, well. That's an entirely different issue.

Shoutarou doesn't seem inclined to make a big deal of it, at any rate. If anything, he's being as polite as Daisuke has ever seen him. And even way back when, Shoutarou always had an irreverent streak that made most people uncomfortable. By comparison, now, he's positively mellow.

"Grabbing dinner?" Shoutarou asks. 

"Ah, yeah." Daisuke glances at the bento in his hands. He notices Shoutarou's hands are empty. "You?"

"Just keeping this guy company," Shoutarou says. The look he gets from Arata is somewhere between fond and exasperated. _They really are friends,_ Daisuke thinks for no good reason. 

"Picking up a couple things for a trip," Arata explains. He's holding face masks and travel-sized toiletries. He frowns at the unmoving line in front of them. "How long have you been waiting, Hirose-san?"

"A couple minutes," Daisuke guesses. 

"There's another convenience store a block away," Shoutarou tells Arata, who purses his lips, thinking. 

Then he dumps his purchases into Shoutarou's hands. "You wait in line here. I'm gonna go grab the other things I need next door." Arata gives Daisuke a slight bow. "Nice to meet you, Hirose-san."

"Um. You, too," Daisuke manages, while Shoutarou splutters, "Oy! What am I, your personal shopper?"

Arata has already dashed out the door, throwing a grin and a wave over his shoulder. 

Daisuke glances back at the cashier, who's still wrapped up with the same customer as before. Shoutarou sighs. 

"Your friend seems nice," Daisuke tries, after a long moment of silence.

"Yeah," says Shoutarou, and doesn't elaborate. After another couple seconds, Shoutarou glances at him. "So how's it feel, officially entering your thirties?"

"I'm twenty-nine," Daisuke replies — a bit more waspish than he intended maybe, but honestly, why do people keep rounding up?

Shoutarou might be smiling. "My mistake. Seems like that's the age everybody starts having a midlife crisis around here. Me, I'm looking forward to breaking that pattern."

"I think I got my crisis out of the way a bit earlier. I'm almost glad, in a way."

"Tempting fate, Dai-chan. Who knows what could happen in the next year?"

"I'm definitely not taking anything for granted," Daisuke admits. It gets him a startled look, though Shoutarou covers it up almost immediately. Funny, Daisuke thinks, that that hurts almost as much as the rest. Because he still remembers when Shoutarou didn't automatically assume the worst of him.

He's changed. They all have. Only, Shoutarou doesn't seem to see it.

But maybe. "Being away was good for me," Daisuke tries. "I mean, it was difficult, and definitely not how I expected things to go — but I guess that was the point. It really made me appreciate what I had."

"You were getting pretty popular back then," Shoutarou notes. "Guess with a couple years, you could get back to something like that, huh?"

"I doubt it," says Daisuke. And there's that startled look again. "I'm just doing what's right for me. And, well, some people need the fame, I guess. But for me, it's more important to be doing something I care about, with the support of people I care about. You know?"

Shoutarou is openly staring at him now, like he doesn't even recognize this version of Daisuke. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe that's been the problem.

Shoutarou says, 

"The line's moving." 

Daisuke glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, the holdup has finally been resolved. He moves up a couple steps, Shoutarou right behind him.

"You've changed," Shoutarou says, voice low enough that Daisuke nearly misses it.

"So have you."

"Not that much, I hope." But something in Shoutarou's expression, posture, relaxes. "My purpose in life is to stay a reassuring constant while the rest of you are losing your heads and going on journeys of self-discovery, literal or otherwise."

"Isn't that the point of being a twenty-something?"

"I've always been sixteen going on sixty," Shoutarou deadpans, and Daisuke laughs. Shoutarou grins at him. "Anyway, none of you would know what to do with me if I suddenly started acting my age."

"I think we'd manage," Daisuke says. "What are friends for, right?"

Shoutarou's smile fades a bit. "Yeah. True."

The cashier calls for the next person in line. Daisuke realizes that's him, and hurries to the counter with his bento. He waits by the door for Shoutarou — who obligingly meets him there, even holds the door for him on the way out.

"Listen," Daisuke hears himself say. "If you're not busy — me and a couple friends are getting drinks later. And, I mean, it's literally all the friends I have in Tokyo, so. If you want, you should drop by."

Shoutarou raises an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing, really. Well, I got a callback for an audition." Daisuke refrains from adding anything else; that doesn't matter, right now. "But you know everybody — me and Jun, Tomoru, Sho, and Utsumi. You remember Utsumi Daisuke?"

"Taito's friend," Shoutarou says. He seems distracted for a moment. Then, "Yeah. Okay. Let me know where and when?"

Daisuke already has his phone out. "Texting it to you as we speak." He glances up to see Shoutarou wearing a small smile, more bemused than anything else. But there's a hint of fondness there, too, same as the look Arata had given him earlier.

They used to be friends, after all. There's no reason why that can't happen again.

"All right," Shoutarou says. "Well. I should find Shihou before he gets lost. But I'll see you there—" He checks his phone. "—at 9:30?"

"Yup." It's just drinks. And there's still something hesitant in the way Shoutarou watches him. But it's a start, better than nothing. Daisuke returns Shoutarou's smile. "See you there."

 

* * *

 

He shows up late to his own party (as Tomoru notes, teasing), but technically (as Daisuke points out to him) there's no celebration without him, so he's right on time. 

Jun rolls his eyes, while Tomoru raises an eyebrow at the display of brattiness. Daisuke slides in between the pair of them. Everyone here knows him well enough to know he doesn't mean it.

Except, maybe, Shoutarou. 

Even as that thought occurs to him, though, Utsumi snickers. "You almost sounded like your old self there." Daisuke pulls a face at him; Utsumi grins back. 

"Are we expecting anyone else?" Jun asks. 

Tomoru makes a thoughtful noise. "Just Jinnai, I think, unless Takkun has a change of plans. But I don't know. Sounded like he was getting ready for another late night at the studio."

"That freak's at the studio _again_?"

Shoutarou raises both eyebrows, and even Utsumi glances up from the drink menu.

"God," Jun continues, oblivious to the look that passes between Daisuke and Tomoru, "you'd think he'd have more than just the one hit by now, given how much crap he writes. Then again, most of it _is_ crap."

"Not a fan?" Shoutarou asks mildly.

"I support my friends' artistic endeavours." Jun eyes Shoutarou. "Anyway, like you're one to talk."

"What are we talking about?" Utsumi asks. 

"Kikuchi Takuya," Daisuke supplies, at the same time Shoutarou says, "The person responsible for _Takaramono_."

"Oh, god. That's right. That was him." Utsumi's eye roll almost rivals Jun's. "That damn song was stuck in my head all summer. When it was on the radio," he clarifies. "All the girls at the studio loved it. Taito nearly talked some of them into choreographing a number for our show."

Shoutarou cocks his head. "I assume you talked some sense into them."

"Obviously," says Utsumi. "Or I might've had to skip town and renounce dance forever. _Women_. Honestly."

The pair of them exchange a look of solemn understanding, for all of half a second, before breaking into identical grins.

Jun glances at them with something approaching disdain, just shy of actually offended. And that's interesting, Daisuke thinks. Jun says, "That song isn't really a dance number anyway."

"Exactly," says Utsumi, with feeling.

"Can't imagine Kikuchi doing that kind of music," Shoutarou remarks. "Ballads, piano, and unrequited love seem more his speed."

"He's certainly aware of his strengths," Tomoru agrees.

Jun flags down a waiter. "Let's get drinks."

"Should we wait—" Daisuke starts, but he's superseded by Utsumi and Shoutarou's chorus of agreement. Tomoru gives Daisuke a sympathetic look, but puts in his drink order along with the rest of them. 

Well, Sho _is_ late. Daisuke gets a beer as well. 

Jun glances at his phone. "Jinnai's really late," he notes. "You sure he's even coming?"

"He'll be here," Tomoru says, at the same time Shoutarou adds, "He's been working way too much lately."

Jun shakes his head. "Who would've thought being a salaryman would screw up his schedule more than acting ever did."

"You barely even talk to him anymore," Shoutarou points out.

"I see him around. It's not like I have a lot of free time either."

"The burdens of fame." Shoutarou's voice is bone dry. Utsumi doesn't quite manage to cover his grin, and as Jun's eyes start to narrow — affected detachment cracking under the extended teasing, in front of someone who's not really a friend — Daisuke hastily says,

"So, since you're all here — did I tell you my ideas for the callback?"

"Do tell," Tomoru says, smiling. Shoutarou props his elbow on the table in a listening pose, as Tomoru adds, "That's why we're here, after all."

Daisuke notes — and ignores — the look of utter boredom that crosses Utsumi's face. As much time as they've spent together, these last couple of weeks, they've rarely talked about dance. Gossip about dancers doesn't count. 

"Well," Daisuke begins, as their drinks arrive. "I think I've told all of you, but I've been working with a choreographer — Utsumi introduced us, actually. His name's Ryuu. He's pretty great."

"Ryuu's something, all right." Utsumi lifts his glass in a half-hearted toast before taking a sip.

"But I also started talking to Jin," Daisuke continues, "since he always knew my style pretty well…" He launches into some of what he's been discussing with Jin. 

Tomoru makes a supportive comment here or there. Utsumi more or less checks out, checking back in only when he hears a name he recognizes. Jun listens for maybe two seconds, then not-so-subtly checks his phone — and doesn't look up for the next ten minutes.

Shoutarou, surprisingly, proves an excellent conversation partner: pointing out technical details that Daisuke might've overlooked, filling in info about dancers and choreographers that Jin mentioned offhand, assuming that Daisuke would know, or that Daisuke would look it up on his own.

Jin prefers to give people the benefit of the doubt. Shoutarou has no such compunctions.

He probably shouldn't be so surprised, Daisuke tells himself. Shoutarou has been in the business as long as he has. Longer, now. 

It's a bit like sitting through lessons, though. He wonders if this is how Utsumi felt, when Daisuke took it upon himself to give advice, way back when. He feels a twinge of sympathy. Maybe Utsumi, too, just wanted someone to talk to.

From the corner of his eye, Daisuke spots someone walk into the bar. He doesn't have to turn his head to know who it is — he's in the middle of recounting the rumba demonstration that led to Ryuu working with him — but he wonders if he can get away with cutting the story short, to greet the person now walking up to the table.

Utsumi, bored by the story, looks up when Shoutarou nods at someone.

"Oh," Daisuke hears him say. "Hey, Jinnai."

In that moment, Daisuke is profoundly grateful for Utsumi being the way he is. He cuts himself off — no point pretending he hasn't noticed now — and smiles up at Sho.

"Hey." Daisuke tells himself the bright feeling in his chest is just relief. "You made it."

Sho returns his smile, and — okay, maybe not just relief. He doesn't get a chance to examine the feeling, though, as Shoutarou asks, 

"You came straight from the office?"

Sho does look a bit rumpled, carrying a briefcase, his jacket unbuttoned and shirt collar wilting in the evening heat. Still, Daisuke doubts most people would tag him as a salaryman on sight.

"Some of us actually have real jobs," Jun sighs. Daisuke is surprised he even noticed, given the way he's been glued to his phone. Tomoru elbows him, and Jun looks up long enough to add, "Good to see you, Jinchan."

Sho takes it all in stride. He looks back at Daisuke. "Congrats. Did I miss the story of how it went?"

 _You're the only one here who's actually asked,_ Daisuke thinks. He can't seem to stop smiling. "No, I was just telling these guys—"

"Get a drink and join the merriment." Shoutarou gets up. "I'll come with you."

A look passes between the two of them, something that Daisuke can't quite read. Shoutarou, he notes, isn't smiling anymore. Neither is Sho. 

Utsumi says, "Could you get me a glass of water?"

"Coming right up." Shoutarou heads straight for the bar. After a moment, Sho follows him. And that's strange, Daisuke thinks. He'd thought that Shoutarou would be happy to see Sho. They're best friends, after all. 

But that look they'd shared, it'd held no fondness at all. 

"Damn," Jun mutters after a second. "They really are fighting."

Daisuke starts. "What?"

"Just a rumor that's been floating around the office," Jun says. A faint frown appears on Tomoru's lips, while Utsumi listens with unabashed curiosity. "I mean, _I_ figured something must be up, given the way Shoutarou's been acting lately. He's always been super weird about Jinnai anyway, but I guess it's bound to happen, sooner or later, when you're that weirdly close. No offense," Jun adds, to Daisuke. Which makes no sense.

"I'd say we're at least as close as they are," Tomoru notes mildly.

"Yeah, not like _that_." Jun gestures in the direction of the bar, where Shoutarou and Sho are embroiled in discussion.

Tomoru swirls the wine in his glass. "I'm not sure whether to be offended, or."

"You should be glad."

"And why's that?"

"We're in no danger of getting to the point where you barely acknowledge my existence," Jun says, much too casually, "and neglect to invite me to accidental reunions, even when people start noticing my very conspicuous absence."

Tomoru's hand freezes, wine lifted halfway to his lips. Something knots in Daisuke's gut; he only has a vague idea of what Jun's getting at, but the meaning seems clear enough to the one person who's meant to understand.

At least Utsumi is even more in the dark than Daisuke is. And Utsumi, being the way he is, has already lost interest in this cryptic exchange. 

"So." Daisuke turns to him, fishing for something — anything — to change the topic. "Hey, you never told me exactly what happened at Jin's studio, that time with Hashimoto-san."

Utsumi immediately perks up. "Oh, yeah! Man, that was hilarious. So this was back when Shirasu just started teaching — you guys all know Shirasu Jin, yeah?" 

Jun makes a noncommittal sound; Utsumi takes it as permission to launch into the story. Daisuke listens half-heartedly, most of his attention on Tomoru. Who seems to be paying rapt — and unnecessary — attention to Utsumi. While ignoring Daisuke.

And that's not fair, some selfish part of him thinks. Maybe Jun wouldn't understand, but Tomoru had said it himself: Daisuke knows what it's like.

"—which is how Taito basically got banned from there for life," Utsumi concludes, laughing. "But he ended up hanging out with us for the rest of the summer, and that was great. Well, except for the part where he was just as bad as all the girls swooning over Kikuchi's dumb love song."

"What are we talking about?" Sho asks, reappearing just then, Shoutarou a couple steps behind. 

"We seem to have circled around to Takkun again." Tomoru gestures for Sho to take the seat by Jun.

Shoutarou hands Utsumi a glass of water. "You guys heard his latest cover?"

"No," Jun snaps immediately, while Utsumi sighs, "They all sound the same."

" _Takaramono_ wasn't bad," Sho says. Daisuke coughs to disguise a laugh at the look that crosses Jun's face. Sho glances at him, querying — Daisuke gives him a quick smile, shakes his head.

He doesn't get a chance to explain that they've already been over this, as Utsumi is saying, "It's basically every other generic love song ever written. But with like, more piano riffs."

"It's pretty catchy," Daisuke offers.

"I think Takkun's got another hit in him," Tomoru says. "I'm looking forward to it."

"That song was popular for like a week," Jun points out, sounding more disgruntled than necessary. "He'll have to work a lot harder to get an actual hit."

"He's working pretty hard at the studio right now." Tomoru glances at his watch. "How long will he be there, you think?"

"Is he coming?" Sho asks.

"Maybe someone should text him," Daisuke says, unable to help himself. Worth it, as he sees the corner of Tomoru's lip twitch. 

"We really have a bad habit of talking about people who aren't here," Jun says to no one in particular. And evidently excluding himself from the analysis.

"It's not a good look," Shoutarou agrees. He lifts his glass. "I say anybody who wants to shit-talk Kikuchi — or his love songs — drinks."

Utsumi clinks his glass against Shoutarou's. "Cheers."

The two of them share another conspiratorial grin and do just that. Daisuke smiles to himself. Looks to Sho — who doesn't appear to have heard Shoutarou at all. Instead, he's saying to Tomoru,

"But I think you're right. Kikuchi's got a decent instinct for pop music. Not the stuff they'll play at clubs, obviously, but there's always a market for the kind of thing he does."

"Is that your opinion as a friend, or as a working professional?"

"Neither."

"Music critic?"

"Hardly." Sho's voice is warm with amusement. "Just speaking as someone who had that song stuck in his head for at least a couple days."

"You and everybody's aunt," Jun mutters, attention captured by his phone again.

"People usually call me uncle," Tomoru remarks.

"Oh, please." Daisuke elbows him. "You still get carded every time we go to a bar."

"Painting in the attic?" Sho asks, dutifully following up. 

Tomoru smiles at their teasing. "If only my vices were so easily transmuted." He glances at Daisuke. "What do you think? Takkun and the chart-topping single: has he got a chance?"

"I think so." Daisuke studiously avoids looking at Jun. "People might complain about cliche, but everyone secretly likes a love song."

"Nothing wrong with being a romantic, is there?" Sho asks. 

"You would say that," Daisuke shoots back, though his own heart is doing a weird thing just then. But no. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. After all, if he hadn't come back to Tokyo, none of this would have happened. Having all this. Getting into that audition, celebrating a birthday with his friends. Just being here, with people who care about him. 

Even if he's still got a long ways to go — even if it's not exactly what he wanted, not completely — it's more than he could have asked for. Certainly more than he's willing to give up.

"I actually went back and listened to some of Kikuchi's older stuff," Sho tells Tomoru. "He used to write all his own songs, didn't he?"

"Still does, mostly. He's worked with a couple different composers, and I don't think they let him do the arrangements anymore."

"Thank god," Jun sighs. 

"Piano riffs everywhere?" Daisuke guesses, which makes Tomoru laugh. 

"Something like that. But no, he still writes. I can always tell when a song's written by him, anyway. There's an honesty about his lyrics."

"That's one way of putting it." Jun still hasn't looked up from his phone. Daisuke is vaguely impressed by his multitasking skills. "Half his albums read like a teenager's blog."

"His fans seem to enjoy the personal touch," Tomoru says. 

Utsumi chooses that moment to check back into the general conversation. "Are we still talking about Kikuchi?" 

"I'm gonna need another beer," Shoutarou remarks.

Sho glances at Shoutarou's mostly-empty glass, says nothing. He replies instead to Tomoru, "That's what I mean, though. Songs work because you can relate to them, you know? And he's good at that."

"Just like any kind of performance," Daisuke agrees. "I mean, that's why live theater's great, right? And concerts."

"And dance," Tomoru adds. Sho smiles at Daisuke, who forgets the rest of the point he's trying to make. 

Leaving an opening for Utsumi to say, "I'll give you theater and dance, but Kikuchi? I mean, yeah, he's a decent performer. But relating to _Takaramono_ kinda feels like trying to relate to a bucket of syrup."

Shoutarou snorts into his drink, and Daisuke can't help a giggle either.

"A bucket of syrup doesn't really have relatable feelings," Jun says, still not looking up from his phone. 

"Right," Utsumi continues blithely. "It's just sap. Romance, whatever. Seriously, I don't get why girls are so into that kind of stuff."

Shoutarou makes a sympathetic noise.

 _And to think he's the one here with a significant other,_ Daisuke muses to himself. Except — well, Sho's not dating a girl. But a girl is dating Utsumi. Women are indeed creatures of mystery.

"I don't know if it's _just_ sap," Sho says. His tone is thoughtful. "I wondered if Kikuchi wrote that song with someone in mind. All his stuff is pretty personal, right? Like you said."

The last is addressed to Tomoru, who doesn't bat an eye. "I'm sure whoever he wrote it for was very flattered."

Daisuke is having a harder time keeping a straight face, especially as Jun picks up the current thread of conversation, and — finally — slowly — looks up from his phone.

Just in time for Utsumi to scoff, "God, I feel sorry for whoever that song's about. It's embarrassing enough on its own, but — listening to it, and knowing that it's about _you?_ I'd skip town and change my name."

Jun gives Utsumi a flat look. 

Daisuke bites his lip. 

Utsumi notices — and Daisuke can practically hear the gears click in his head. Misguided though they turn out to be, as Utsumi says, "Oh, dude, sorry. I forgot — you guys were pretty close, huh?"

And Daisuke doesn't mean to. He really doesn't. But it's just too much.

His giggle makes Sho raise an eyebrow. Tomoru elbows Daisuke, which makes it _worse_ — and now Tomoru's biting back a grin as well. 

"No need to apologize," Tomoru tells Utsumi, in some attempt to salvage the situation. "We're all friends with Takkun."

"Just a couple adults," Shoutarou adds, "who also happen to be friends."

Daisuke glances over, fighting another giggle, and catches Jun — glaring. At Tomoru. The laugh dies in his throat. It lasts for maybe a split second. If Tomoru noticed, he gives no sign. A serene mask drops over Jun's face, quickly enough that Daisuke wonders if imagined the whole thing.

Sho says, "It's hard to be friends with someone who hasn't grown up." 

Daisuke can't tell who it's directed at. Not Jun, surely. Shoutarou's expression gives nothing away, and Utsumi is looking at all of them like he can't quite figure out what language they're speaking.

It's Jun who breaks the silence. "You all mentioned Kikuchi at least three times." He picks up his beer. "Everybody drink."

Daisuke quickly picks up his own glass. Sho does as well. Utsumi has already offered a fake sigh — commiserated with Shoutarou on their impending alcohol poisoning, thanks to Kikuchi — and drained the rest of his beer. Tomoru takes a single sip of wine.

Sho glances at Daisuke, shrugs slightly, a wry grin that seems to say, _Cheers_. Daisuke smiles back. 

 

* * *

 

Maybe it's the effect of (what Daisuke is now calling in his head) the Kikuchi Drinking Game. Though it soon devolves into something where they have to drink at any mention of any topic of conversation that one or more of them agree should be banned.

Jun and Sho ban mundane work-related talk.

Tomoru and Daisuke limit discussion only to people they _all_ know. Utsumi throws in a supporting vote.

Shoutarou and Utsumi ban romance, except in an ironic sense. Daisuke tries to vote that one down, as it seems restrictive, but fails to get the majority needed to overturn the decision.

He can't quite remember when they decided on that rule. By then, he's just tipsy enough not to care.

Jun is the first to leave, sticking around just long enough to finish his drink. He wishes Daisuke luck before he goes. Says nothing to Tomoru, who also doesn't look up from chatting with Sho.

Tomoru himself takes off not long after Utsumi and Shoutarou decide to split a cab.

Daisuke wonders — fleetingly — if he should be worried, about any of that. 

It's hard to worry, though, when it's just him and Sho, talking. About everything and nothing. Whatever crosses their mind, following one story to the next, and the next, and the next. The way they used to.

_I've missed this, more than anything._

More than once, the words are on the tip of his tongue. Daisuke bites them back each time. It's enough, that he has this much: Sho telling him about a script he read, way back when or just the other day. The way he comes alive, when he gets into a story he loves. 

It's one of the many reasons why, Daisuke thinks. 

And the rest, well. It's selfish. It's the way Sho always looked after him, back then. The way Sho still listens to him, now. How good it feels, to spend time with someone who laughs at all the same things he does. Who cares about the same things. About him.

Because even now, Sho still says things like,

"I should get you home." His watch reads quarter to midnight. "You're going to the studio in the morning, right?"

"Yeah," Daisuke agrees reluctantly. He slides to his feet. "It'll be fine, though. Usually, I'm the only one there at eight. The rest of them show up closer to ten."

"Insufferable morning person," Sho says, fondness softening teasing into something almost unrecognizable.

Daisuke tries not to think about where he's heard it before. "Yeah, I know." He manages a grin. "It's hard work, you know, being this perfect."

A laugh. "I'm sure." 

They walk outside together, pausing a moment on the pavement as Daisuke gets his bearings. Maybe it's the late hour. Maybe it's the alcohol, though his head feels pretty clear otherwise. For a moment — some madness — déjà vu — he almost starts walking in the direction of his old apartment. 

Sho asks, "Which way are you headed?"

Daisuke looks at him. He's taken off his jacket, still carrying the briefcase. And he doesn't look like a salaryman — he never could — but he does look older. There's a bit of grey in his hair that he hasn't bothered to dye.

"That way," Daisuke says, when he remembers to breathe again. 

He starts to take a step back, say good night, and Sho beats him to it. 

"I'll walk you."


	11. Ten

Sho undoes another button, his collar already damp with sweat. The evening's turned muggy. It'll rain tomorrow, or later tonight. The briefcase feels heavy in his other hand. 

Daisuke doesn't seem affected by the heat, walking close enough that their arms bump together. Sho wonders if — even in summer, even now — his hands are still cold.

It's a fifteen minute walk to the train station. Twenty, if they walk slow.

"Shison seemed upset," he says, because it's a better conversation starter than _I miss you._ Ridiculous, when they've spent the whole evening together.

Daisuke makes a sound like he's trying not to laugh. "I guess we teased him a little too much. But you know Jun."

"I haven't worked with him in a long time."

Daisuke gives him a funny look. Looks away before Sho can confirm whether that was bemusement — or concern. 

"I guess we weren't really that close either," Daisuke says. "I mean, we did get into some trouble together back in the day—" A smile, no hint of bitterness; Sho wonders at the way his own chest constricts, "—but, really, it's always been Tomoru. For all of them, probably. Though, these days. I mean."

Daisuke looks worried as he trails off. But not worried about him, this time.

Sho asks, "What were you two teasing Shison about?"

The frown transforms into a faint giggle. Sho tries not to feel satisfied by it. Even if he can take some credit, if only for steering the conversation.

"I figured you'd have heard from Shoutarou already," Daisuke says. "I mean, Jun's not really one for subtlety."

"Not really an asset, in this field." _Our field,_ he just stops himself from saying. Walking with Daisuke is playing tricks on his mind. 

"No, I guess not." Daisuke smiles to himself. "I don't know if I should tell you."

"Aw, come on. Don't make me feel more like a grandpa than I already am. Now I'm getting shut out of the gossip, too?"

"You're not old," Daisuke retorts. Another glimmer of a smile. "It's about Kikuchi."

"Kikuchi?"

"You remember how he used to like, trail around after Jun?"

"I thought they liked each other."

"Oh, they do. But don't tell Jun we all know. He'd have to skip town and change his name."

"He can go with Utsumi."

Daisuke laughs. His arm bumps Sho's again — maybe teasing — maybe just proximity. "Anyway, Jun's been hanging out with Kikuchi a lot lately. He says he's so busy he doesn't even have time to sleep, but I guess sleep's low on his list of priorities. At least, lower than Kikuchi. I'm pretty sure that's who he was texting all night."

Sho thinks about the intent, distracted look that Shison had sported all evening. "Huh."

"Yeah," Daisuke agrees. "Not really subtle."

"I would've pegged Kikuchi as the obvious one in that relationship."

"Oh, it's not a _relationship_." Daisuke's eyes are practically sparkling with happy mischief. "They're just _friends_. Adult friends. That is, adults who just happen to be friends."

The phrasing is familiar — and after a moment, Sho remembers Shoutarou making the same joke. 

_Did you really invite Shoutarou?_ he doesn't ask, because it'll bring up other questions he's not ready to answer. Not just yet. He'll have to, he knows that now, but he can approach this on his own terms.

Anyway, the brat is Sho's problem; not Daisuke's. Daisuke doesn't need someone like that in his life.

"Honestly, though, Kikuchi is just as bad," Daisuke continues. They're gossipping, Sho thinks, but there's nothing mean-spirited in the way Daisuke talks about his friends. Nothing but humor and affection, the way it's always been.

He's missed that, as well. 

Daisuke says, "I mean, no one _made_ him write a song about Jun."

Sho blinks. The pieces click almost too readily. " _Takaramono_ is about Shison Jun?"

Daisuke doesn't even try to bite back his giggle. "Sorry for ruining the song for you."

"Huh."

It must've been something in his tone. Maybe his expression. Daisuke glances at him. "Don't tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"You like the song even more now, don't you?"

Sho isn't quite sure what how he feels about the song — or Kikuchi Takuya and Shison Jun, whatever is going on there — but it's not contempt. "And what if I do?"

Daisuke laughs, softer, warmer even than a summer night. "Very in character of you, Jinnai-san."

"You calling me a fan of bad acoustic pop, Hirose-kun?"

"Hopeless romantic, maybe."

"I'll take it as a compliment." 

Shoutarou would have laughed at him for that. Even Kenta. Tera would've tried to riff on the joke, and led them off topic for the rest of the walk. 

Daisuke just smiles. "It suits you."

 _I know that now,_ he doesn't say. It's his own problem, his own answer, and Daisuke doesn't deserve to get dragged into the mess of Sho's own thinking. Daisuke deserves people who love him and people to gossip about; friends who'll listen; maybe Sho. 

Daisuke seems happy, here and now, in a way that has less to do with other people and more for himself. Sho can't quite find the word to describe it, but he can see it in the way Daisuke appreciates the company of other people and in the way he smiles, sometimes, not at something anyone else said, but when he thinks no one's looking.

And it's the same, whether he's surrounded by friends back at the bar, or walking to the train station, with Sho.

Sho can admit — to himself — that Daisuke was always a selfish person. Not in the way other people are, jealous or ruthless or some combination of charm and ambition that gets mistaken for charisma. Daisuke was always selfish about other people's affections.

It never occurred to him, back when he'd taken that affection for granted. It's obvious now, that Daisuke has changed. 

And yet.

Talking to Daisuke is as easy as it's ever been. Easier, maybe, than it's got any right to be. And if Sho wonders about the occasional pause — a casual elision — things neither of them brings up — well. 

Maybe he's the one who still has some growing to do.

And maybe they'll talk about that, too.

"I have something for you," he says before he loses his nerve. 

He catches the startled look that crosses Daisuke's face before it's smoothed over. A quirk of his lips. A joking tone. "Found some more old pictures?"

"No. Well, I did, when I was cleaning out my apartment. I think some of it's yours, actually—"

"No, you keep them," Daisuke says a little too quickly. "Anyway, it's not like I've missed it if it's been at the back of your closet all this time."

Daisuke looks away. 

There's nothing he wouldn't have given, if only Daisuke would ask. 

But that's another conversation, probably. He takes the little gift bag out of his briefcase. The tissue paper is looking worse for wear. "Here," he says. 

Daisuke looks at him. Looks at the bag. Reaches for it, slowly. Their hands don't touch.

Sho stuffs his hand back in his pocket. "I know it's summer, but I figured you'll be around for a good long while, so you'll need them sooner or later."

Crinkling paper. Daisuke pulls a pair of gloves out of the bag. Sho had been afraid, when he'd gone back to the store, that the gloves would be gone. But they were still there. And now they're here, in Daisuke's hands.

A pattern of foxes run along the cuffs, auburn color vivid even in the dimness.

Daisuke's expression is harder to read.

Sho waits. 

Daisuke draws a quick breath. It's his imagination, probably, that the sound seems to tremble. "Thank you," Daisuke says. "You didn't have to."

 _I did,_ Sho wants to say and can't. But he did. He needed to, the same way he needs to work and sleep and make Daisuke happy. He's not great at it, sometimes, but it doesn't excuse him from trying.

"Consider it a birthday present," Sho manages. _I have a couple years' worth to catch up on._

"My birthday was last week."

"Belated birthday present?"

"Or early present for next year?" 

"I think I'd have to do a little better than gloves, with a whole year to prepare. Maybe a fox vest?"

"I could probably pull that off." Daisuke gives him a quick smile. Looks back down at the gloves. He puts them on, though it's the middle of summer. "Thanks."

It's almost the same, Sho remembers — with the force of something knocking the breath from him — Daisuke, years ago, on a January night. Cheeks tinged with color and cold. Sho's gloves on his hands.

Back then, neither of them would've spent money on a pair of suede gloves.

Or maybe he would have, given time. He doesn't remember falling in love, but in every memory of Daisuke he carries now, he always already knew. And isn't that how it's supposed to go? It should be simple.

Daisuke turns his hands in the dim light of the street, admiring the gloves.

"They are pretty cute," Sho says.

"They are. And you're ridiculous," Daisuke says, laughing. Happy. "I can't believe you actually bought these."

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Don't quote Star Wars at me. I'm trying to give you a compliment here."

"That was a compliment?"

"Yeah, well." Daisuke glances at him. Looks away, smile still on his lips. "I'm just saying. You didn't have to. But you've always been — a good friend. To everyone. Even when you didn't have to be."

It's spoken lightly. 

But Sho hears the rest.

"I know I haven't always been a good friend to you," he says. Daisuke pauses in the middle of straightening the glove on his left hand. "I was being a real asshole, for a long while, back then."

"You weren't." Daisuke hurriedly takes off the gloves. "Anyway, it was a long time ago."

"I never got a chance to apologize."

Daisuke holds the gloves in his hands. 

"Neither did I."

His voice is quiet. They're a five minute walk from the train station. Sho waits. 

Daisuke says, "Should we—"

"There's a park around the corner," Sho says. "If you want to sit down."

Daisuke nods. 

They should have done this years ago, and the thought changes nothing: there's no universe in which Sho could have let this go. However it must end, this is his personal truth. There's no other way this story goes.

There's plenty of space on the park bench. Daisuke sits carefully, as if trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Sho wonders how to tell him that the space he occupies has never been less than absolute. 

Daisuke doesn't quite look at him, and that's fine. Sho puts his briefcase on the ground. The thoughts have been gathering for days — months — maybe ever since Daisuke left. Whatever that says about him isn't as important as what he needs to say. 

"I'm thinking of quitting my job," he begins. 

Daisuke's head snaps up. "What?"

Sho suppresses a smile. "I'm not going to. Not immediately, anyway, but I've been thinking about it — which is, frankly, more than I've done in years when it comes to thinking about what I actually want. That's the first step to actually doing something about it. My process, if you will."

"You and your process," Daisuke says, joking. Fond. He catches himself, expression turning concerned. "But — why? Did something happen?"

"No. I mean, it's not that anything bad happened. Things are fine at work. It's a stable job. It's not really headed anywhere — and I guess I was fine with that, while I wasn't, either."

"Are you — going somewhere?"

"I'm not gonna hop a midnight train to nowhere." His smile gets a faint one in return; it's a start. "But when I started this job — I can't tell you why I did it. Well, I could. I just wanted something I could count on, for a while. _Settling_ sounds conceited. Everyone's been really good to me. But it's never been what I really wanted. It's just that, for a long time, I completely lost sight of what that even was. All I knew was that I wasn't happy doing what I was doing. So this is where I ended up."

Daisuke looks at his hands. "I wish I could tell you I supported whatever you were doing, before you — retired. But truth is, I stopped paying attention."

"I wouldn't have expected you to."

"I tried to keep up with news for a while, but—"

"Daisuke."

That makes him look up, at least. Sho wants to smooth the worry creasing his brow, the tight line of his mouth, the way Daisuke gets when he's anxious and trying not to show it. He used to know how to make it go away with a joke, a touch. 

He says, "I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to talk to me again, never mind keep up to date with the shitty projects I was doing back then."

A bit of that anxiety eases into a faint smile. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"I did a low-budget horror flick that was some unholy hybrid of zombie movie and softcore porn."

That surprises a laugh out of Daisuke. He covers his mouth with one hand. "Sorry." The worry lines are gone from his eyes, replaced by crinkles. "That does sound awful. It's just. I mean — back then, no matter how bad it got, people always cheered each other on like you'd just landed the dream gig, you know?"

"Yeah." Because he does remember that. "And that's nice, in its own way, but some honesty also goes a long way."

"You want my honest opinion of all the shitty samurai plays you did?"

"Look who's talking."

"Excuse your face. I was a beloved character in a beloved franchise—"

Sho rolls his eyes. Daisuke doesn't even get to the end of the sentence, interrupting himself with a giggle. Hand over his mouth again, before he drops it. Some of the tension seems to unwind from his shoulders. 

"What are you thinking of doing," Daisuke asks, "if you do leave your job?"

"I ran into Suemitsu-sensei the other day." But Sho doesn't know yet where that thought is going. He shrugs. "I think I'd like to work on the creative side of things, not necessarily directing or writing, but something more involved than back-end paperwork. I'm not leaving the industry. I just need to find something that I'm actually into."

"You'll find it," Daisuke says. Not a platitude; simple faith. 

Sho lets the weight of it settle in his chest. 

"I know," he says, and, "There's something else, too." 

Daisuke gives him a querying look. 

"Ever since you came back—" No, he can't start there. "I know we used to talk a lot, about everything, but there's some things I never told you. And I should have."

Daisuke goes very, very still. 

The question flits through his mind — whether Daisuke knew, how could he not have known, when it was the most obvious thing in the world — but Sho is through being bitter about what should have been.

"I can measure my life to three beats: before I met you, after I met you — and after you left. It sounds cheesy, but it's my own honest truth: after I met you was the best time in my life. It's not that everything was perfect. I think we both know. I still had a lot of growing to do. And I still do. But having you in my life made me feel like I could. I wasn't afraid of growing up or growing old. I wanted to face every day and the day after that, for as long as I had, and I knew I could because you believed I would. You made me happier than I'd ever thought I could be. You made me a better person than I knew how to be. And that's one of the problems, I guess.

"I should have told you, instead of assuming you already knew — even if it felt like you could read my mind sometimes. But it doesn't work like that. I know that now. You've always shown me that you have to go after what you want. That determination is as important as serendipity. More important, actually. You're proving it now." 

He can't help it; even if Daisuke doesn't need him for this anymore, if ever he did, Sho can't help but be proud of him. 

"I'm glad you came back," Sho says. "Selfishly, I'm glad. Talking to you made me remember the person I used to be. The person I wanted to be, after we met. I may not know exactly what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I know that I still want to do something with it. I want to be someone you can support, and not just because the honor code says we cheer for each other no matter how shitty things get. And I want to be there for you, too, if you'll let me."

He lets his breathing calm, counts to two, three, and looks up. 

Daisuke is staring at him — looking at him — the lines around his eyes speaking to how hard he's trying to maintain control; the tremor in his voice betraying how little he's succeeded, where he usually has no problem controlling his expression if he really wants.

It's always been a matter of what they want. 

"I—" Daisuke begins, and stops. A breath. A shake of his head. "What are you saying?"

"I treated you badly. I know I did. Yutaka knows, too — he was the first one to say it to my face. Someone needed to. I almost wish someone had earlier, but I don't know if I would have listened." 

Funny, that the words don't seem to weigh as much as they did, on his mind, all these years. Maybe it's the way Daisuke's looking at him. Maybe he's grown up, just enough, to finally say, "I loved you from the moment we met. If that's even possible. All I know is that's what happened. And it was so obvious to me that I never stopped to wonder if you didn't come to the same conclusion — and for that, I'm sorry."

For a second, Daisuke looks as if he's going to say something. Instead, he looks away.

"I had no right to blame you when I never thought to ask," Sho continues. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. I probably could have used some time to think things over on my own. But it was hard, being away from you. And when you left — part of me wanted to go find you, except none of us even knew where to begin. I could have tried. Part of me wanted to, when I left acting last year. Without you, I couldn't seem to remember what I wanted anymore."

Daisuke draws a shaky breath, lifts his head. Doesn't look at him. The shadow of his hair suggests more than tells. Sho says, 

"I'm glad you came back. I'm sorry about what happened, and I'm glad you're back."

It's not enough, words couldn't be, for everything that's been and been lost or found. It's all he has for now. The rest isn't up to him.

Somewhere, distant, a car horn blares, sound made close by the not-quite-hush of cityscape at night. It's late, he knows, but he doesn't quite know when. It doesn't seem so important just then.

He watches Daisuke take a deep breath, the way it shakes him like wind tumbling through flowering boughs. The sound he makes is closer to a sob than a laugh. His eyes are dry, voice not altogether steady when he says, 

"You're right," and, "You probably should have told me that a long time ago." A tenuous smile. "Though, I don't know if I would have wanted to hear it."

"I don't know if I would have been able to say it," Sho tells him. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have. That's the thing about hindsight."

"Yeah," says Daisuke. "People change."

He looks down at his hands again. 

"But I am glad," he continues, "that I came back. And I'm glad we can still talk. I didn't — I wanted to see you again, when I came back to Tokyo. I know I didn't have a right to expect that, but I did hope." Flicker of a smile, veiled again. "I had some growing up to do, too, when I went away."

Daisuke sits back slightly, molded to the curve of a rickety park bench. Half his hair's escaped the tie holding it back. There's no breeze to stir the strands into motion, leaving wisps to frame his face in silhouette. 

Sho asks, "Will you tell me what happened, when you went away?"

 

* * *

 

It's not that he hasn't been expecting the question. It's one of the reasons why he came back. He's allowed to have different reasons, but one of them has always been this: since the day they met, he's practically forgotten what it's like not to have someone who always wanted to know what was on his mind, his plans, the tiniest things that made him laugh or cry. Someone who wanted to know him, even though he sometimes seemed to know Daisuke better than Daisuke knew himself. 

He's wondered, more than once, alone in Tokyo or with Yui in Sendai, what it is that makes a person care about someone else. It makes no sense. Sure, there's the grand romance you see in movies; but Daisuke isn't a girl, and Sho — for all that he hams it up sometimes — isn't a dashing hero. He's better, in a lot of ways. He's real. And he'd always been there for Daisuke — until he wasn't.

He'd nearly convinced himself, between winters away, that love is a thing you can outgrow. Like selfishness, or reckless optimism. 

Apparently not.

There's a pair of gloves in his hand, middle of summer, and Sho is here with him. He'll be okay if he focuses on just that much for now. One step at a time. It's the only way he's been able to make it, and it's the best way he knows how.

He says, "I went to Sendai. My cousin owns a pottery shop up there. Yui, she's — well." It's easier, telling stories he's already told before. Yutaka has heard plenty about Yui, but Daisuke doesn't remember if he's told Sho before. Possibly. He used to tell Sho everything. "Yui's a tough one, but she's actually really nice when you get to know her. Her shop's doing well and she always needs help. Mostly she's too proud to ask for it, I think. And I don't really know anything about pottery, but I could run errands and do busywork for her. So I stayed and helped out for a while."

"For five years?"

"I left Tokyo in February, so closer to four years, really."

"That's a long time," Sho says, after a bit.

"It was nice," Daisuke replies, and amends it to, "I needed it. Time away. It got pretty bad, toward the end, here." And even if he's rehearsed this in his head before, the real thing feels different. It's almost like being back on stage, relying on gut instinct in the moment, the lighting a bit too bright for him to see the whole scene and adrenaline making his heartbeat so loud he can barely hear the line cuing him in. 

He says, "I was depressed. It wasn't just that I was feeling down — and I was, nothing was going right, personally or professionally, but it was like — things were bad, and I didn't even have the energy to try to fix it. A lot of days I wanted someone to fix me. But it doesn't work like that."

He hadn't meant to admit that part. Even if it's true. There had been days, curled up on the floor next to his bed — because getting into bed meant admitting defeat for the day — and he couldn't sleep yet — but he also couldn't get up, didn't know what would be the point or where he'd go if he moved from this spot — there were a lot of days when he wanted to pick up the phone and call Sho. Ask him to come over, please, just to talk. They didn't even have to talk. As long as he was there. There was no logic in that at all, but Daisuke couldn't shake the feeling that things would be okay if Sho just walked through the door.

He never did, of course. At that point, the two of them didn't talk anymore.

He says, "I've never been someone who runs away. And I don't think I am, still. I always want to find a way, and I've always known — I've always believed — that I could do it." And the few times he wasn't sure, he used to have someone to believe for him. "It was just that, back then, I didn't even want to find a way. I just wanted to leave."

Admitting it hurts, the way it hurt for years — started the moment he got on that train, and maybe before — because it wasn't him. He wasn't himself, and he'd known, and hated knowing. 

Admitting that much, just to himself, had taken time. Time that Tokyo — always moving, never sleeping, ever demanding everything of him — couldn't allow.

He says, "I thought about it a lot. I tried not to, but there's not much else to do in Sendai. Yui would kill me for saying that, but really, compared to this city..." He feels himself smiling, but only feels it in the muscles of his face. Reflex, from years of performing. "I left Tokyo because I couldn't stand it anymore and then I spent years thinking about Tokyo. It sounds so stupid — but it's what I needed."

The park is so quiet, it almost feels like Sendai if he closes his eyes. 

But it's not. He came back, and he needs to say, "I thought about you. I missed all my friends, even the ones I hadn't seen in a long time. People who probably didn't really ever consider me a friend, but I missed them all the same. Mostly, I missed you. I missed being able to talk to you, being able to pick up the phone or send a message and know you were there on the other end of the line. I missed you so much, it was pointless trying to reason with myself that there was a good reason we weren't talking. That I'd maybe not been as good of a friend as you were to me — and I kept remembering that you'd told me just that."

 _Because that's not what friends do,_ Sho had nearly shouted at him, that night, years ago. The words lingered in Daisuke's head, but just because it lingered didn't mean he'd understood.

He'd needed time to figure it out, piece together the puzzle that Sho had solved within minutes of their meeting. 

Sho had always been the smarter one, between them. 

Daisuke says, "That hurt, when you told me that. But even then, I think, I wasn't really mad at you. Maybe part of me knew all along that, yeah, I'd treated you badly, too. I know I took you for granted. But for a long time, I kept thinking, I'd been there for you. We spent so much time together. It was so good, so it didn't make sense that you'd tell me we're not friends."

This wasn't part of the original plan, when he imagined how this conversation might go. But Sho had told him — admitted things that Daisuke should have figured out on his own. They both have things to own up to.

"I don't know if you'll believe me — and I wouldn't blame you, because it sounds so dumb that it took me two years and a couple hundred kilometers to see it — but I never thought about what you meant to me, or vice versa. I didn't really have to think about it. I do that. I try not to do it anymore. But I'm not someone who thinks about things a lot, when it feels right. I only think about things if they go wrong. And that didn't help.

"You made me feel more loved than I've ever been. And I didn't even know what I had. All I knew was that it went away, and I couldn't seem to get you back, no matter what I tried. But I didn't know what it was I really wanted. You can't get something if you don't know what it is, after all."

He can't look up, can't lean on someone else's reaction or words. He has to do this, by himself. He says, 

"I'm sorry I did that to you. That was horrible of me. I've grown up a lot since then, I think, and I'm trying to be better. I'd like to make up for it if I can. I want to be your friend again. A real friend, this time." 

And funny, really, that this is the part that finally closes his throat. 

He gets the words out past the burning feeling. 

"I missed you so much, these last five years."

He doesn't say, _I still miss you, the way we were._ He can't say it. What right does he have, to say something like that? Even if Sho said — but whatever he said, he was talking about years ago. Before everything.

Things are different now.

Sho says,

"So did I," and, "every single day."

Daisuke breathes again.

"You seem to be doing okay." It's not accusing. He can't accuse Sho of being happy — without him — it doesn't work like that. "I mean it." He tries a smile. "Middle age suits you."

"Shut up," comes the easy retort, and Daisuke almost wants to laugh. Doesn't quite dare. He's not sure if it'll come out amused or hysterical. Maybe a bit of both. 

"So that's the last couple of years," Daisuke says lightly. "I grew up. And you grew old."

It gets him a laugh, a huff of a sound, but still a laugh. Sho always laughs at his jokes, even when Daisuke knows he's not particularly funny. He's missed that part. 

Sho says, "Didn't really think it'd be like this, huh? Growing up, or growing old."

"You're not actually old."

"Feels like it."

"I don't know," says Daisuke. "I never thought much about it. Growing up. Or growing old. But it had to happen, so I did. Going away was a part of it. I don't know what would have happened, if I'd stayed in Tokyo."

"You seem to be doing much better."

"Yeah. I am." He's never actually talked to anyone about this. Not even Yutaka, mostly because Yutaka didn't ask; just saw him, alive and whole, and that was answer enough for him. Meanwhile, Tomoru is too politely indirect to ever bring up something like that, though he clearly knows. Sometimes Daisuke wonders if Tomoru is a little uncomfortable with the idea of his friend struggling with mental illness. He wouldn't be the only one.

Sho, on the other hand, asks, "You don't have to tell me, but — are you still seeing someone? About the depression?"

"There's nothing wrong with me now," Daisuke says quickly, habit, before his brain catches up with the fact that Sho only sounds — not concerned, exactly; just that he cares. 

Daisuke says, "I did get treatment while I was away. Yui practically dragged me to the therapist's office; you should've seen her. She's like, a whole head shorter than me. But, you know. I'm glad she did. It helped. I can deal with things on my own, now."

"That's good," Sho says after a bit, and, "But you shouldn't have to deal with it on your own."

For a moment, Daisuke thinks he's going to say, _not when you have me_.

"You have people who care about you."

And, right. That's the more reasonable thing to say. Daisuke looks down at his hands. "Yeah. I know. I mean, some of them don't know — and, um, I don't think I want to tell them just yet—"

"Of course," Sho says without Daisuke even needing to ask.

He should feel relieved, or at least reassured. Mostly, he feels guilty for even wanting to ask; some part of him still trusts Sho completely, and always has. He can't think about _always will_ , not when they're sitting together on a park bench in the middle of the night, talking about everything they should have said years ago but needed until now to tell each other. Maybe it's for the best, even if it's not exactly what he wants, now that he knows. 

But he doesn't get to do that to Sho. Not this time. 

It's so quiet out here, with barely any breeze. Maybe it'll rain, soon.

Sho breaks the silence first.

"So what happens now?"

Daisuke blinks. "Um. I guess I should head home." He searches his pockets for his phone, wondering what time it actually is. "You still have work in the morning, right?"

"Yeah, I do. But what I meant was, well." The wry smile is actually audible in his voice. "I meant about us."

Daisuke pauses. He looks up, and finds Sho watching him. 

There's nothing expectant in his expression, but there is something of patience. Something that feels both familiar and completely new, and Daisuke doesn't know how that could be. Sho is waiting for him to say something, and Daisuke — as usual — is a couple steps behind.

The gloves are soft in his hand, a slight ridge of embroidery where the foxes appear along the cuff.

Or maybe they're on exactly the same page for once. 

Too bad it's not a story that belongs only to the two of them. Not anymore.

He gets a hold on his thoughts and on his facial expression. "I meant what I said earlier. I'd like to be your friend. I feel like I have a couple years to catch up on, in that department."

"I think it'll all come out in the wash," Sho says. "I have some things to make up for, as well."

He's practiced for years, smiling when he didn't mean it. Laughing is the same. "I don't know if this is gonna work, if we just keep owing each other friendship favors. We'd have to get like, a ledger or something. Do they even make those anymore?"

"Do you really think we should be friends?"

His heart doesn't skip a beat, because that's not a thing that hearts are supposed to do. Not in real life. Anyway, the logical part of Daisuke's brain adds, maybe he means it'd be too difficult staying friends with someone like you.

"I'd like that, yes," he manages. "But, I mean, it's been a long time. We've both changed. So if you don't—"

"Daisuke."

He doesn't remember Sho reaching for his hand. He definitely doesn't remember turning his own palm upward so their fingers fit together. He does remember that they used to do this, sometimes, sitting on Daisuke's uncomfortable couch or idly watching TV in Sho's apartment, just another weeknight, the two of them.

He remembers not minding the couch being uncomfortable, or the TV being so old sometimes the sound would just cut out in the middle of a broadcast. Sho always offered him a shoulder to rest his head on, and Daisuke always paid more attention to his commentary than what was actually happening on TV. 

And Sho never complained about Daisuke's hands being cold.

The gloves crumple in his grip. 

"I just need to know," Sho says, quiet but clear. Something like patience, something like faith. But that's not quite right, either. "I meant what I said, and I still mean it. I love you."

Something thuds in his chest, so hard that Daisuke feels it as physical pain.

Sho says, "I'll always be here for you, as long as you want me. I promise. If you just want to be friends. But I think we should talk about it first, this time."

Maybe it's the way he says it. Maybe it's the way he's still holding Daisuke's hand, out here in the middle of the night, in a city that Daisuke might have been able to forget, someday, even if he'd never quite get over the things and people he'll always regret if he didn't at least try. 

Because one of the reasons has always been this. 

He knows that look on Sho's face. He's seen it before, back when he didn't think twice about such things. It's the way Sho's always looked at him. There is a word for it, and deep down Daisuke has known all along. 

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't.

But what else is he supposed to do, when the person he's loved for longer than he even knew is holding his hand, asking a question that could've been answered years ago, if only Daisuke had been a better person. And still Sho waits like nothing else matters, and they have all the time in the world.

Daisuke kisses him.

 

* * *

 

In the end, both of them had taken so many things for granted. The way Daisuke always turned to him, leaned into him, holding his arm like they were meant to be forever at each other's side. Daisuke used to fall asleep on his shoulder, that old TV set playing white noise in the background.

And Daisuke never said why, and Sho never asked, because every touch seemed to speak volumes.

He can feel the pulse in Daisuke's wrist, fluttering against his skin.

When Daisuke kisses him, his grip on Sho's hand tightens until it hurts, and he barely registers pain. Just another detail, like the place or the hour or the tickle of Daisuke's hair against his cheek. Everything coming together for this moment.

Sho thinks about pulling that hair tie loose.

Not everything has to have meaning. Sometimes, a smile is just a smile. Once upon a time, he'd learned the hard way that a kiss, too, was just that: a gesture.

This is different.

Daisuke doesn't let go of his hand when he draws back. His next breath is shaky. Biting his lip, looking like he's trying not to smile and utterly failing. Sho never wants to see him unhappy again.

He tucks a stray lock of hair behind Daisuke's ear. 

When Sho leans in to kiss him again, Daisuke stops him. Palm flat against his chest, fingertips wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. That flicker of happiness starts to fade.

"Wait," says Daisuke, and, "Sho, I—" and, finally, "What about Kenta?"

He didn't want to bring it up, so he hadn't. 

It would be easier, if he didn't have to think about that right now. This conversation was always already going to be difficult enough. But Daisuke is asking, and Sho knows he should have explained; it just seemed wrong to bring another person into this, when it was always about the two of them. 

But Kenta will always have been a part of this now.

He says, "Kenta left for Osaka on Thursday."

"Right." Daisuke draws back, a fraction of a movement. "For his show, right? He'll be back on—"

"Thursday. I doubt he'll want to see me when he gets back. Actually, he made that part pretty clear before he left."

Daisuke, who'd started to withdraw his hand, stops.

The glance he gives Sho is uncertain. 

"What?"

"I can't tell you the whole story right now." It'll take a while, he knows, for him to sort out all the details in his own head; longer, to put it into words. But Daisuke deserves to know at least this much: "Right before he left, we talked about it."

"About what?"

"We had a pretty big fight," Sho admits. "But we needed to. Kenta — he's one of my best friends. But it wasn't working, and it's not going to change by pretending things are fine. I guess I've learned that much, if nothing else."

Daisuke watches him, his expression completely still. 

Sho says, "It wasn't fair to anyone, when that was never what I wanted to begin with."

Daisuke looks away. He makes a sound, too quick to understand or even identify. It might have been a laugh; it might have been a sob. He covers his mouth with his free hand — still holding those gloves, so what actually happens is Daisuke presses fox-print suede against his lips. 

"Sorry." The sound comes out muffled. Daisuke lowers his hand, shakes his head. "I'm sorry — and I am, I'm sorry that happened—"

"Don't be."

"I'm not. I'm not sorry that you're here." 

Daisuke turns back to him, smiling again. A hint of color, high on his cheeks. A sound like the relief of finally coming home. A flare of naked happiness.

"Good," says Sho, before kissing him again. 

And this is something he'll never take for granted again: Daisuke, a heartbeat away, hand caught in his, smiling against his lips. 

"So what happens now?" Daisuke asks.

He hasn't moved away, instead resting his forehead against Sho's. Daisuke's hair tickles where it wisps against his neck. Sho likes the feel of it under his hand. 

"We'll figure it out," Sho says. "Together."

"Okay," says Daisuke. "Let's do that."

There are still so many things they need to tell each other, he knows, and plenty more things neither of them yet understands. But that's all right. He's not scared. For the first time in a long time, he's looking forward to what tomorrow brings.

"It's late," he says eventually. 

"Yeah," Daisuke agrees. 

"I'll walk you to the station?" Sho asks, and leaves it as a question — even if he already knows the answer — even if it's always been obvious — just so Daisuke can smile at him again, steady warmth where his hand is clasped in Sho's — and say, 

"Okay."

Neither of them bothers to check the time. Daisuke takes his gloves, Sho takes his briefcase, and Daisuke holds onto his arm the whole way there. Rain on the horizon, the trees shedding the last of their flowers for summer's heavy green. A rumble of trains in the concrete.

Daisuke kisses him again at the station, and waves at Sho until the escalator carries him out of sight.

The smile stays with him the whole way home.


	12. Eleven

Sakamoto has been staring at him all morning when he thinks Sho isn't looking.

Sho isn't looking. But Sakamoto isn't as subtle as he thinks he is, and Sho spent more than a couple years trying to get people's attention for a living; he knows when someone's eyes are on him. He wonders if he did something wrong. Or if he's doing something wrong, and Sakamoto is waiting for him to notice.

He's been going over lists of office supplies since he arrived and found a stack of them on his desk, with a note in Fujiwara's handwriting: _Can you take care of this? Thanks so much!_

It's goddamn inventory. Sho isn't sure how even he could possibly get that wrong.

Maybe Sakamoto caught him looking at his phone earlier. But Sho hasn't been on his phone in at least an hour. He doesn't even know if he has any new messages, since he'd set it to silent. Thanks to Sakamoto, Sho doesn't dare reach into his pocket and check.

They'd stayed out much later than they should have last night. The last message from Daisuke this morning read: _Got my beauty sleep don't you worry :)_

He smiles to himself — and quickly schools his face blank again when Sakamoto glances over at him. There's no way he can explain to Sakamoto why he's smiling at a piece of paper detailing the number of staplers purchased in the last quarter.

Daisuke should already be at the studio by now. Sho wonders if he's working with that choreographer to prepare for his callback. He wonders if anyone else at that studio understands just how important this is to Daisuke.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when someone taps him on the shoulder. 

Fujiwara gives him an amused smile. "I didn't mean to startle you. You were so focused on your work you didn't even hear me say your name." Behind her, Sho sees Sakamoto roll his eyes. Fujiwara says, "Touya-san wants to see you."

Sakamoto looks away. 

Sho gets up, heart pounding. He wonders what he did wrong. He wonders if Sakamoto knew all along, the bastard.

Touya-san's office is a carefully controlled chaos of files, folders, boxes filled with stacks of paper, and miniature potted plants. Somewhere in the middle of all this is a desk, and somewhere in the middle of that desk is a laptop. Touya is in the middle of typing something when Sho knocks on the half-open door. 

"Please, sit down." Touya doesn't look up from his screen. "I'll be done in just a second."

Sho looks around for a seat and fails to find one. 

Touya makes a tsk'ing sound. "Fujiwara-san!"

Fujiwara appears as if summoned by magic. She lifts a cardboard box and a potted cactus to reveal a chair that seems to be doubling as a filing cabinet, and disappears again before Sho's even sat down. The door closes behind her.

Touya closes his laptop lid. Sho sits up a little straighter.

"I understand you worked with Suemitsu Kenichi in your former role at this company," Touya says. "Would you say that you are still on good terms with him?"

Sho finds that his mouth is dry. "I worked with Suemitsu-sensei some time ago, yes." And ran into him just last week.

His mind races, thinking over the last few days. Whatever half-formed plan he has for a career change — well, it's just that: half-formed. Less than that. There's no way someone could have told on him, because how could anyone have known? 

Touya is still waiting for an answer. There's no point in lying; at least one person saw him talking with Suemitsu last week. 

Sho clears his throat. "I learned a great deal from working with Suemitsu-sensei, and I believe that we are still on good terms." When his boss doesn't immediately accuse him of trying to jump ship, Sho ventures, "May I ask what this is about, Touya-san?"

Touya sighs. He picks up a piece of paper from his desk. 

"This is an email from Suemitsu Kenichi requesting that someone from this office attend his project kickoff meeting tomorrow. It's an all-day meeting. I do not know and do not particularly care why it takes that team anywhere between six to twelve hours to draft a preliminary rehearsal schedule and fill out some requisition forms. However, I would like them out of this building before the night custodian has to kick them out — it has happened more than once — and I would also like to make sure those forms actually end up on my desk, rather than repurposed as a prop. I would rather not explain that one."

Touya scribbles something on a post-it note. "This office only has so many persons, and every last one of them has already been subjected to this experience at least once. And as you seem least likely to quit over being exposed to Suemitsu Kenichi for an extended period of time, I leave tomorrow's meeting in your capable hands."

Touya places the post-it note on the email and hands it over. Sho glances down at the note. It reads: _Conference 307. Wednesday 9:00am._

"Sakamoto can cover you while you are looking after Suemitsu and his team. Please understand that we appreciate your work in this office, Jinnai-kun, and this is not in any way, shape, or form a punishment."

"Of course, sir." Sho tears his eyes away from the email. He can wait to read sensei's 15-Point Plan for a Modern Age Theater Marvel (Meeting Agenda). "I'm happy to do my job."

Touya makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. "This is not part of your job, Jinnai-kun. I appreciate your willingness to be a team player, but babysitting talent is management's headache. Our office only makes the trains run on time."

Touya opens the office door for him. "Best of luck. And remember: get them out of the building by eight. Six would be preferable."

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Sakamoto's cryptic glances turn into suspicious looks when Sho completes his tasks in record time, and he would've done it while humming under his breath, too, if he'd thought he could get away with it. 

He stays an extra hour to make sure he's itemized everything Sakamoto needs to do tomorrow. No point letting a whole day go to waste, as Touya-san said.

Sho can't help grinning to himself. He's going to spend the day working with Suemitsu-sensei and his creative team.

On the bus home, he checks his messages again. Daisuke texted around three to say he's heading back to the studio. Sho wonders if he's been there this whole time, and if he's still there. It's getting close to eight.

At home, he's just finished washing the dishes when his phone buzzes:

_Finally home blargh_

Only three words, but he can practically hear Daisuke's voice. It makes him smile. 

He types, _You're out late for a school night_

 _Shut up,_ comes the immediate response, followed by, _Looooooong day at the studio. Went back for afternoon session and Utsumi started making fun of me for being old but he was just sitting around making dumb jokes instead of actually practicing so whatever_

No point comparing, Sho thinks; nobody works as hard as Daisuke does. _Don't wear yourself out._

 _I know what I'm doing,_ writes Daisuke, and, _How was your day? :)_

 _Also long,_ Sho writes. He hits send and can't think of a witty follow up.

The response comes after a minute or so: _Everything all right?_

_Yeah it's fine._ His half-formed plan is half taking shape, caught somewhere between office politics and dramatic irony. But there's no point bothering Daisuke with the inane details of his job. Daisuke has enough to worry about himself. 

Sho considers adding, _Want to grab a late dinner?_ Even odds that Daisuke hasn't eaten yet, if his old habits are anything to go by.

They only just saw each other yesterday, he reminds himself. They'd talked about it, hadn't they? Both of them needed some time to think things over. This is still so new. Even if he's always known. Even if they've been heading toward this, in some shape or form, in every way that matters, for the last ten years and counting. 

This time, Sho promises himself, he's going to do this right.

He writes, _Your callback is tomorrow morning, right?_

_Yup!_  
_I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight_

When that used to happen, years ago, Daisuke would send him random K-pop videos until he eventually fell asleep in the middle of arguing with Sho about why one band was clearly better than another. Sho never could tell any of them apart.

He wonders if Daisuke still remembers that. 

He writes back, _I know you've always been able to do anything you put your mind to._

He wants to add, _Wish I could be there,_ or _Call me in the morning,_ or even, _Come over and let's talk it out._

They don't need to see each other every single day. It's not the same as it was, ten years ago. Daisuke needs to focus on tomorrow, and Sho needs to let him do that. So he writes, 

_Let's meet up and talk after._

_Okay,_ Daisuke replies. _Good night :)_

 

* * *

 

By eleven-thirty, they've already gone through all the coffee and tea originally sent up for the meeting. People come and go, running out to bring back updated designs and concept sheets. Sho suspects that half the coffee cups have ended up scattered throughout the building, abandoned at whatever hapless printer or copier was on hand. The project is a constantly moving target as Suemitsu-sensei drags new, more, better ideas out of every last person on his team.

While Suemitsu is thus embroiled in discussion with Hayakawa-san, the music director quietly asks Sho to make a run to the coffee shop a block away; Wada-sensei also insists on paying for the coffee, though Sho tries to protest that the company will cover it.

On second thought, the company probably isn't inclined to cover frozen lattes with extra syrup and whipped cream on top.

 _Caffeine, sugar, sudden inspiration. Rinse and repeat,_ Wada had told him with a wry grin. _You'll get used to it, if you work with him long enough._

He'd like that, Sho thinks. He doesn't dare imagine that he'll get to work with someone like Suemitsu-sensei right off the bat, but he can so easily see himself working on a team like this. Easier than imagining year after year of keeping staplers in stock and making sure the metaphorical trains run on time.

He's so caught up in the idea he nearly runs into someone exiting the elevator.

"Pardon me—"

"Morning," says Shoutarou. 

The elevator closes behind him. 

Sho shifts the tray of drinks to one hand and punches the elevator call button again. "Didn't know you were in the office today."

"You keep tabs on my schedule?"

"Not really." 

He tries to think of something else to say. Usually, Shoutarou is the one with the conversation starters. Right now, Shoutarou's just looking at him.

Sho says, "Where you headed?"

"Lunch."

"Yeah? Who you going with?"

Shoutarou shrugs instead of answering. 

The elevator is taking forever. The frozen latte is starting to melt.

Shoutarou asks, "Touya-san's making you get him coffee now?"

"It's for Suemitsu-sensei." Shoutarou looks surprised, though Sho can't think why. Surely, it's not news to anyone that Suemitsu Kenichi works with their company. "I'm sitting in on the project kickoff meeting, and Wada-sensei sent me to get something sweet. For inspiration, according to him." He can't help smiling a little at the idea that sugar is an essential part of genius.

Shoutarou is quiet for a second. Then, 

"You're serious, aren't you. About making a new start, all just because Daisuke's back."

There's no one else around, but Sho tenses anyway. "Touya-san sent me to staff the meeting. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go around telling people—"

"I'm not gonna snitch on you, you know. What kind of friend do you think I am? No, don't even answer that," Shoutarou says before Sho can get a word in edgewise. "You can be mad at me if you want, but at some point you're gonna have to acknowledge that we actually are friends."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I want you to be happy," Shoutarou says. "Even if you insist on sabotaging yourself every chance you get."

"Does it ever occur to you that maybe what I want is not the same thing as what you think I should want?" He's being unkind. He knows he's being unkind, and he can't bring himself to care. The kid is out of line, and Sho is tired of this.

Shoutarou just looks at him for a long moment. "Hirose Daisuke is not your friend," he says quietly. "I am. Kenta is. You're going to wake up one day and realize that."

"You might be waiting a while." The elevator finally arrives. Sho steps through the doors and punches the button for the sixth floor.

Shoutarou looks at him like there's something else he wants to say. 

In the end, he walks away as the elevator doors start to close. Sho lets out a long breath, and tries to the put the whole thing out of his mind. 

 

* * *

 

As Touya had warned him, the project meeting runs over. What Touya neglected to warn Sho of, or perhaps didn't know, is the part where Suemitsu wraps the meeting by inviting everyone to dinner.

"It's important to get to know your team outside of a work setting, Jinnai-kun." Suemitsu claps him on the shoulder, steering Sho toward the door. "I appreciate you helping out today. I don't know how Touya could spare you, honestly. Why don't you come with us?"

"He has a real job, Kenichi," Wada notes. He hands Sho a stack of forms — some more battered than others. "Don't be fooled: dinner is just an excuse to get more work out of us."

"Hey, now. Creative profession's never been a nine-to-five job!"

"Don't I know it."

"So." Suemitsu grins at Sho. "You'll come for dinner, yes?"

Sho holds the forms in his hands — they'll have to be filed and typed up for electronic distribution later — but that can wait. It's already quarter past eight. There won't be anybody left in the upstairs office to notice.

"I need to run these upstairs," Sho says. "But I can catch up in a bit, if you let me know where—"

"We'll wait for you." Suemitsu waves to Hayakawa, who's signaling some sort of silent question; apparently, the hand gesture is all the answer she needs. She herds the rest of the crew out the door. 

To Sho, Suemitsu adds, "See you downstairs in fifteen?"

"Yes!" Sho checks himself. "I'll be right there. Won't take a minute."

"There's no need to run," Wada calls after him, but Sho's already halfway down the hall and making for the stairs. The production office is only two floors above.

On the way back down, Sho checks his phone. Daisuke's callback was this morning, and Sho hasn't had time to check his messages for most of the day. It's a good thing, though, he thinks; both of them have new things to focus on. Things that matter. That's the way it should be.

The last message from Daisuke is the one he got last night. And that's strange. Daisuke might have been too busy or nervous this morning to call, but surely, he's had enough time this afternoon.

Sho starts to type, _Hey just checking in. How'd it go?_ — and is interrupted when the elevator doors open, and a voice calls out,

"There he is!" Suemitsu waves him over. "All right, let's go. Harumi says she got us a table. Or a couple tables, sounds like. How many of them ended up going, Shunsuke?"

"Your entire team ended up going, like they always do," Wada replies.

"Team bonding," Suemitsu notes cheerfully. "Works every time."

Sho puts his phone away. He'll text Daisuke later, he promises himself. During dinner, or after. Maybe Daisuke is out with friends, too. Their worlds don't have to revolve around just each other.

He keeps his phone on, through dinner, and drinks, and discussion of the current project and others old and new. No one bats an eye at him being there, and Sho finds himself seated between Hayakawa-san and an assistant choreographer, who — after discovering that Sho had worked with Suemitsu some ten years back — proceeds to grill him for his thoughts on how sensei's artistic style has evolved over the years.

He's missed this, Sho thinks more than once. Not just this, but people like this. People who really _care_ about what they do.

It's nearly midnight by the time he gets home, and Daisuke still hasn't called. Or texted.

Sho spends a couple minutes, lying in bed, still in his work clothes, scrolling idly through emails on his phone and wondering if he should call. He wants to. But does he need to? Daisuke is probably asleep by now.

He'll call in the morning, he decides.

 

* * *

 

He hits dial and listens as the outgoing call rings. And rings. And rings…

Sho frowns at himself in the mirror. He straightens his cuffs, phone caught between his shoulder and ear. His tie looks a little crooked; maybe it's just the angle.

It's taking Daisuke an awfully long time to pick up.

He glances at the clock. It's half past eight, Thursday morning. Daisuke is surely awake by now, if not already on his way to the studio or whatever else he had planned for today. 

Sho has put on his shoes and is trying to decide if he should leave a voicemail or text or try calling again — when he hears a _click_ and then,

"Hello?"

"Hey." Sho tries not to sound as relieved as he feels. It's only been a day or so since they last talked. "Just wanted to see how you're doing. How'd it go, yesterday?"

A slight pause.

"It went okay," comes the response. "They liked my audition piece. But I think the director wanted to work with more experienced dancers, so. You know. They told me I didn't get the part."

Sho had expected to hear something like that, but he grimaces anyway. "Damn." He gets why Daisuke didn't call yesterday; it's no fun talking about bad news, not when it's that fresh. "That really sucks. Let me buy you dinner tonight, and we can talk about how much people suck in general?"

"No, it's— Thanks. But that's okay. You don't have to."

"Aw, come on. I want to." Sho grabs his keys from their hook and exits the apartment. "I'm heading to another day at the office and department meeting notes and forms that all need to be filed in triplicate. Dinner with you is about the best thing—"

"I'm going back to Sendai," Daisuke says.

The keys fall silent in his hand. 

"You're what?" 

Because there's no way he heard that right. There's no way. But Daisuke is saying, 

"I'm at the train station right now. I'm waiting for my train. It's— I've stayed longer than I meant to. I left Yui in a bit of a pinch when I suddenly came back to Tokyo. She was only expecting me to be away for a week or so. And I owe her."

"That's bullshit." It is. It has to be. "Are you the kind of person who'd give up just because of— No. I know you're not that kind of person. What the hell happened?"

"Nothing." It can't be nothing. "It's fine." Though it's anything but. "Sho— I have to go. My train will be here soon."

"Daisuke—"

The line goes dead.

For one heartstopping second, Sho just stands there, frozen. This can't be happening. Not again.

Not this time. 

 

* * *

 

_Two Days Earlier_

Tomoru answers the door almost before Daisuke is done knocking.

 _Yeah come on over,_ Tomoru wrote when Daisuke texted him earlier this morning. _How do you feel about brunch?_

By which, apparently, Tomoru meant he was making brunch. Daisuke blinks at the spatula in Tomoru's hand and the apron tied around his waist. His first thought is that the apron probably isn't terribly helpful in preventing stains, since Tomoru's height means the stove would be closer to chest level.

"Hey, you," says Tomoru, motioning for him to come in. He disappears inside while Daisuke takes off his shoes. "Food's almost ready. You want coffee? Tea? Booze?"

"Ah." Daisuke follows his nose to the kitchen. "Just water, or maybe tea if you're having it."

Tomoru expertly flips an omelette. "Sure you don't want something stronger?"

"It's eleven in the morning."

"It's my day off. Or half-day, anyway." Tomoru plates the omelette, wipes his hands on his apron. There's a couple grease stains and what looks like ketchup on the frilly border, but Tomoru's actual outfit — white t-shirt, khaki shorts — remains pristine. Not even a hair out of place, though the kitchen's more than a little warm from the stove being on.

Not for the first time Daisuke thinks that Tomoru is, truly, terrifying in his own way.

Tomoru takes a jug of iced tea out of the fridge. He eyes the contents thoughtfully. "It'd be good with a bit of gin."

"Maybe later." Daisuke takes the jug from him and pours two glasses. "I, um. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Tomoru looks like he wants to raise an eyebrow, but his face doesn't actually move. He brings the omelettes to the table — already set for two — and motions for Daisuke to sit down.

"Everything all right?" Tomoru asks. 

"Yeah. It's— I mean." Daisuke fiddles with his fork. Tomoru gives him a look. Daisuke picks up his cutlery properly. "Thanks for the food."

"I added chili peppers," Tomoru says, _after_ Daisuke has taken a big bite. "It's got a bit of a kick."

"In the teeth," Daisuke mutters, eyes watering. He downs half his iced tea. It's sweet, with a sharp taste of mint. Daisuke looks from his glass to Tomoru. "You did that on purpose."

His only response is a grin. "It's good to try new things." Tomoru takes a bite of his own omelette.

Daisuke takes a smaller bite this time, making sure to get more egg than filling. It actually — tastes pretty good. Even if he probably won't be able to taste anything else for the rest of the week. 

As if reading his mind, Tomoru goes to the fridge and comes back with a yogurt drink. 

"So," Tomoru says. "What did you want to talk about?"

"About yesterday," Daisuke begins, and is interrupted by a loud buzzing noise from the counter. The sound repeats three, four, five times in quick succession before Tomoru grabs his phone, just as it's about to vibrate its way off the flat surface.

"Sorry." Tomoru glances at his phone screen. Daisuke can hear further messages coming in; he's starting to lose count of how many. Tomoru taps a button, and the buzzing stops. "You were saying?"

"You don't need to get that?"

"Nah." Tomoru pockets his phone. "It's just Jun. What about yesterday? Speaking of which, how late did you two end up staying at the bar?"

"Not that late," Daisuke says quickly. Tomoru raises an eyebrow. Daisuke takes another bite of omelette, which buys him an additional few seconds as he has to drink his tea right after. The burning feeling in his cheeks is just the spiciness of the food. Probably. A thought occurs to him. "Wait. When did you leave? I looked around at one point and you were gone."

"You were otherwise occupied," Tomoru notes. "I left around the same time as Ohkubo and Utsumi. Speaking of which, I didn't realize those two were friends."

Daisuke blinks. "They're not." He frowns. "Or, I mean, I didn't know they were."

"They were getting on like a house on fire."

"It kind of makes sense," Daisuke muses. "They're both friends with Hashimoto, anyway. Utsumi always goes on and on about him."

"Hashimoto Taito?"

"Yeah. You know him?" 

"Tangentially," Tomoru says, and really, it shouldn't surprise Daisuke at all. "Jin knows him. It's a dancer thing, I guess."

"Guess I should make more of an effort."

"You'll get there." Tomoru's smile is warm, and Daisuke can't help but smile back. He's back in Tokyo and back in the game and he has a callback tomorrow. Everything's coming together, when just a little while ago he'd almost given up on all of it.

Including.

"So, about last night," Daisuke says. 

Tomoru puts down his fork. "I'm listening."

"Don't look at me like that! It's not— It's not whatever you're thinking."

"I'm thinking about my grocery list, so obviously not." Tomoru laughs when Daisuke makes a face at him. "Seriously. You can tell me. Whatever it is."

"Well..." And how hard can it be, anyway, when he'd already gotten through the real thing? Daisuke had woken up this morning to a text from Sho: _Hope you slept in for once._ He'd woken at his usual time — an unholy hour, according to Yutaka — feeling like he'd slept a thousand years. For a moment, he'd wondered if last night had just been a dream. But the previous text from Sho, when he scrolled up, read, _Good night. I love you._

This is real. He's not imagining it.

And if he is overreacting — Daisuke figured, on his way to the studio and responding to Sho's text: _Got my beauty sleep don't you worry :)_ — then Tomoru will set him straight.

Tomoru knows him, and knows enough of the story.

Daisuke says, "I walked to the train station with Sho. And we ended up talking — about a lot of things. I know you told me to be careful, with him. And that didn't have to be the only reason I came back, and it's not, but — it always kind of was."

Tomoru's brow creases ever so slightly. "Did something happen?"

"No. Well, I mean." A nervous laugh escapes his throat. "Nothing happened to suddenly make me realize. I've known for a while, and seeing him again obviously...didn't make it go away."

"You said you were okay with it, though."

"I am! That is. I wasn't really expecting anything to happen." It would have been stupid to hope, after everything, and all this time. And yet. Daisuke bites his lip.

"We talked about what happened, back then. And a lot of other things. And — he told me he loved me. Still does. Love me."

Saying it out loud makes the whole thing more real somehow.

"And, um," says Daisuke, "I kind of kissed him."

Tomoru's expression goes very, very still. Daisuke drinks his tea. 

Tomoru says, "Isn't he dating someone?"

"They broke up," Daisuke says quickly. Tomoru's expression doesn't change. Daisuke adds, "It sounds like they've been having issues for a while."

"Yes, well." Tomoru doesn't expand on what he means by that.

"You think they...?"

"I don't know anything about it." Tomoru gives him a faint smile. "But, if you ask me, it seems like Jinnai Sho's always had a thing for you. You can ask anyone, really."

"Shut up," Daisuke says, and it comes out more relieved than disgruntled. "I mean. I don't know." Except he does. "I kind of feel like I'm dreaming the whole thing."

"You were sober enough to remember it."

"I was completely sober. So was he."

"Well, then." Tomoru props his chin on one hand, outright grinning at Daisuke now. "We really should have a drink."

"What? Why?"

"To celebrate the long-awaited conclusion of this saga." Tomoru somehow manages to sound both teasing and completely sincere at the same time. "Or an early toast for your future wedding. You pick."

"Oh, shut up." Daisuke can feel the heat in his cheeks. Tomoru laughs at him. "It was just a kiss. We're not. I mean."

"Dai-chan," Tomoru says, with nothing but fondness in his voice now. "You two have been heading toward this for, what? Ten years? I think we can safely say it's more than _just_ anything."

"Yeah, well." Daisuke looks down at his plate, but it's no good; he can't seem to stop smiling. He looks back up. "You really think so?"

"I think you think so, so yes." Tomoru reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Some things, some people — the past has a way of catching up with us."

There's a sudden flurry of knocks at the door. Daisuke jumps at the sound. He turns his head, turns back to find Tomoru glancing at his phone.

Tomoru pushes his seat back — "Sorry" — and goes to answer it.

Daisuke hears the snick of the bolt. The door opens.

A pause. 

"You've got some nerve," says a voice — and Daisuke starts, because it's Jun, but in a tone so icy that he almost didn't recognize the speaker.

"Hi," Tomoru replies. "Don't you have to be at work?"

"None of your business," Jun snaps. Footsteps in the hall. The door closing. "If you really thought you'd get away with this, then you're even more delusional than I—" Jun comes to a halt at the kitchen door; Daisuke offers a feeble wave. "What are you doing here?"

"We were having brunch." Tomoru slips past Jun into the kitchen. "I'd offer you some, but you didn't tell me you were coming."

"You ignored me for twelve hours—"

"Six of which, I was sleeping."

"We're talking about this!" Jun practically shouts, and Daisuke startles hard enough to send his chair skittering back a smidge. Jun looks from Tomoru to Daisuke. "Hi. I can explain later, but I need to talk to Tomoru."

"Okay, um." Daisuke starts to rise from his seat. "I guess—"

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Daisuke." Tomoru pours a glass of iced tea for Jun. "Sit down."

Jun doesn't move. "This is between you and me."

"Why? What's the big secret?"

Jun's eyes narrow. Daisuke admits, with a sinking feeling, that a chair in the middle of Tomoru's kitchen isn't a great hiding place. 

Jun stalks over to the table, pulls out a chair with unnecessary force. He doesn't even glance at the glass on the counter. 

"Fine," says Jun. "Since you're all in on it anyway."

"In on it?" Daisuke echoes, confused. 

"At the bar last night! Laying it on a bit thick, weren't you? I'm not _actually_ stupid, whatever Akazawa-san over here might have been telling you."

"I have never said that about a friend."

Jun snorts. "Oh, am I your _friend_? Because it sure doesn't seem like it!"

"Um," Daisuke ventures, "what's this all about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Jun looks straight at Tomoru. "You told them."

"Told them what?"

"You know what!"

"I tell many people many things," Tomoru says. "So you'll have to be a little more specific."

"Why are you always like this, huh?" Jun demands. "Acting like you're all-knowing on that imaginary pedestal of yours, as if knowing some gossip makes you somehow better than the rest of us? Well, newsflash, Tomoru! We all have shit on each other! It's called _being friends_. It's called we've known each other for too goddamn long, and if I was more of an ice-cold bitch like some other people, I would've ghosted you before now, too!"

Tomoru's lips tighten. Daisuke holds himself absolutely still.

Jun says, "So tell me, what part of _being my friend_ means you go around making fun of me behind my back, to people we barely even know?"

"You know everyone," Tomoru snaps.

"Professionally!" Jun shouts back at him. "This town might run on gossip, but being friends means not adding fuel to the fire when there's already more than enough to go around!"

"What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"You told everyone that goddamn song was about me! As if there's something— Why the hell would you even do something like that!" Jun rises from his seat with the force of his outburst. "What, did you run out of actual jokes to tell, so you decided to make shit up about _me_ instead?"

Tomoru looks Jun in the eye. "I don't spread rumors about my friends," he says, voice calm and cold. "If people started noticing something's up, the only person you have to blame is—"

"There is," Jun hisses, every word like a punctuation mark, "Nothing. Up. With. Me. And. Takuya. Do you understand that? Are you capable of understanding that sometimes _friends_ just means _friends_ , because that's what normal people do? We actually have friends, and treat them like friends, instead of manipulating people or dancing around the subject for years and years until it all goes down in a ball of flames because you've always been incapable of taking a goddamn rejection, Akazawa Tomoru!"

The beginnings of a frown disappear from Tomoru's face as his expression goes completely blank. 

Jun's angry breathing is loud in the silent kitchen.

Daisuke tries to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. It doesn't work; in the dead silence, even a tiny movement is enough to draw attention. Jun glares at him as well. 

"Just because you came back," Jun says. "I don't even know where you've been the last five years, because neither of you ever wants to tell me anything — and you know what? I don't care. You showed up and suddenly it's like 2011 all over again." Jun rounds back to Tomoru. "People have changed. People move on, because that's what people do! You can't just recreate the past, restage the whole thing and hope for a different result this time."

"You can't speak for other people when you don't know everything."

"I know you'd love to see Daisuke and Jinnai get back together, even though Jinnai's got an actual boyfriend now! Don't even deny it. I know you invited him last night for a reason, and honestly, how messed up are you? You'd want to break them up just so you can pretend the last decade didn't happen—"

"That's enough," Tomoru says quietly.

"Messing around with our lives isn't going to get Tsune back! If you really want to do something about him, then just _do something_ —"

"That's _enough!_ " Tomoru snaps. "If that's what you really think of me, then you're right: we're not friends. You don't know me at all."

Daisuke watches them stare each other down, and wishes he knew what to say to fix this. But all he can think is, _Sho said he and Kenta broke up. Didn't he?_

Tomoru says, "I think you should leave."

Jun glares at him. "So that's it? You're not going to apologize or even admit what you did?"

"Get out of my house, Shison Jun."

The angry tension stretches — one second, two — then Jun huffs and turns on his heel. 

At the kitchen door, he pauses. Glances at Daisuke — "Good luck with your callback tomorrow" — before disappearing down the hall. 

Daisuke hears the door slam.

Tomoru stands in the middle of his kitchen, half-eaten meal on the table and an untouched glass of iced tea sweating condensation by the sink. His hands have balled into fists sometime during all this.

Daisuke goes to a cupboard he remembers from the last time he was over. There's a bottle of gin tucked neatly beside boxes of dried noodles and little jars of herbs. 

A sound makes him turn around.

Tomoru has unclenched his fists, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. Daisuke nearly drops the bottle of gin. He quickly puts it down.

"Tomoru?" he tries. 

The next sound Tomoru makes is a sharp intake of breath. 

When he drops his hands, his eyes are dry, but the look in them makes Daisuke want to run over and hug him. Tomoru leans away a fraction when Daisuke makes to approach.

"I'm sorry you had to be here for that," Tomoru says. "I should have talked to Jun when he tried to call me earlier."

"It's my fault, too," Daisuke immediately replies. "I teased him too much yesterday. I shouldn't have."

Tomoru shakes his head. "It's got nothing to do with you. Don't listen to him."

Daisuke worries at his lip, trying to decide if he should ask. He doesn't think he can not ask. Not after what just happened. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Tomoru doesn't pretend not to understand what Daisuke means, at least. But he still shakes his head. Tomoru goes to the table and starts clearing away the plates and cutlery. 

"I'd just like to be alone for now, if you don't mind. No, leave it," Tomoru says, when Daisuke makes to wash the dishes. "I'll do it later."

"I can help."

"I know." Tomoru gives him a faint smile. "I know you want to help, Dai-chan. I love that about you. But in this case, there's nothing you can do."

Daisuke watches Tomoru put the leftovers into clean tupperware. Tomoru puts the tupperware in a plastic bag and gives the whole thing to him. 

"Finish your food," Tomoru says when Daisuke tries to protest. "You're too skinny, anyway."

Daisuke hugs him. The plastic bag hangs awkwardly from his hand, but that's not important; what is important is that, after a moment, Tomoru hugs him back.

Everyone needs a friend, Daisuke thinks. Even Tomoru. 

 

* * *

 

 _Let me know how it goes,_ reads the text from Jin. 

There are similar texts from other people. From Yutaka: _You'll be great!! I know you will!_ From Asumi: _Good luck kid. Ryuu's too dumb to remember things like that but he's rooting for you too._ From Utsumi: _Don't make me look bad k_

From Sho: _I know you've always been able to do anything you put your mind to. Let's meet up and talk after._

It sounds cold compared to the other messages, but Daisuke knows Sho. The utter faith in those words means more than a hundred wishes for good luck. 

He hasn't seen Sho since Monday night, though they've been texting. Sho's busy with work, as usual. He seems to have a lot on his mind. Daisuke hopes that he can sort everything out soon; he knows Sho will, but Sho's also the type to worry incessantly about something until it's done. 

On Wednesday morning, he puts on the outfit that Asumi had picked out for him "For maximum effect," she'd said with a wink. "Show off what you got, you know?" Daisuke doesn't really know, but the muted pink and black do look nice on him.

He grabs his bag and heads out the door.

 

* * *

 

"Okuda," says the harried assistant manager, reading from a piece of paper. "Matsumoto. Hirose. You three, stay behind a bit. Director wants a quick word."

Daisuke glances around the audition hall — really, more of an open area created by clearing most of the furniture out of the club — but the other two seem totally unfazed by this turn of events.

"The rest of you can leave." The assistant manager folds up his piece of paper. "You'll be hearing back from us in a week. Thanks for coming."

About two dozen dancers showed up for callbacks. Daisuke remembers a couple faces from the open audition, but no one had introduced themselves. Most people already seemed to know each other, going by the casual nods and bits of conversation he'd overheard.

So he almost jumps out of his skin when someone taps him on the shoulder and says, "You must be Hirose Daisuke."

He turns around to see a shorter man grinning at him.

"Yes," Daisuke manages, racking his brain as he tries to place the face with a name. Something about him seems familiar.

The stranger notices his struggle. "Hashimoto Taito," he says, and offers a handshake that turns more into a handclasp-with-shoulder-bump. "You're Dai's friend, right?"

It takes Daisuke a second to remember that means Utsumi. "Yes," he says. It occurs to him he should say something other than just that one word. "He speaks highly of you, Hashimoto-san. It's nice to meet you."

"Does he now?" Hashimoto laughs for some reason. "That brat used to give me shit about how he got a girlfriend before I did. You know Kosaka Mai?"

"Kind of. We haven't met, but." Daisuke wonders how rude it would be to ask if Hashimoto knows about Utsumi's fight with his girlfriend. "Utsumi-kun talks a lot about her as well."

"Yeah, he does that. He's a good kid." 

Hashimoto glances over his shoulder. Most of the dancers have cleared out, and Okuda — or maybe Matsumoto — has just emerged from the adjacent office. The assistant manager waves the other one in. He glances in Daisuke's direction, and holds up a hand as if to say, _We'll be right with you._

Hashimoto nods at the passing dancer. "All set, Mattsun?"

"As if," says the guy. Matsumoto, apparently. "Yamazaki's gonna get a real rehearsal director one of these days, but until then, he keeps hounding me to pull double duty."

Hashimoto laughs. "Don't know why he still makes you audition."

"Gotta keep up appearances. Okuda over there? This whole show was his idea, and Yamazaki's making him jump through the hoops anyway." Matsumoto glances at Daisuke. "You know what the old man wants with you, kid?"

"Um," says Daisuke, caught off guard.

Hashimoto claps him on the back. "Hirose-kun here has powerful friends." His tone is teasing. Daisuke thinks they really haven't known each other long enough for him to be doing that; but Hashimoto just gives him a cheerful smile. "You should ask one of them to put in a good word for you."

"He doesn't need it," Matsumoto snorts. He gives Daisuke an assessing look. Daisuke reminds himself not to flinch away; if he wants to be back in the business, then he has to be able to stand up to this much. 

After a moment, Matsumoto gives him a quick grin. He offers his hand to Daisuke. "Guess I'll be seeing you around."

"Yes," Daisuke manages, and, "Thank you. I hope so."

"Hirose," the assistant manager calls. "Director's ready for you."

"Good luck," Hashimoto says. He follows Matsumoto toward the exit. "Oh, and say hi to Dai and Shoutarou for me!"

"Will do," Daisuke says, and before it can occur to him to ask why, the assistant director ushers him into the office.

 

* * *

 

He went into that audition and did exactly what he wanted to do, is what Daisuke will remember later. Every detail, every beat, every move that he's practiced and reviewed and practiced again until every muscle in his body screamed at him to stop and Asumi literally had to kick him out of the studio.

And they liked it, is also what he'll remember. Yamazaki-san was full of praise — for his style, his strengths, his natural flair for dance — especially considering that he'd only just returned from an extended period of time away.

Yamazaki didn't seem terribly surprised to learn that Daisuke had only just returned to Tokyo.

 _I know I'm rusty, compared to everyone else,_ Daisuke told him when Yamazaki asked what he hoped to accomplish. It seemed a strange question at the time. Daisuke told him the truth: _But I want to get back into performing. I'll work twice as hard, to make sure I can keep up. And I've always been a fast learner._

He remembers Yamazaki not meeting his eyes. If Daisuke hadn't been making a concentrated effort to maintain eye contact, project whatever confidence he could, he might have missed it. 

Then Yamazaki said, 

_I've heard good things about you, Hirose-kun. You certainly have the talent for this. And you have experience, even if it's several years removed. That said — and I hope you can understand — we also have to think about what would be best for the dance company. We like to have people stick around, if they can._

Of course, Daisuke understands that. It's nice to have continuity. Matsumoto and Okuda, obviously, had worked with Yamazaki more than once. Hashimoto seemed to know the man as well. 

But to Daisuke, Yamazaki said, 

_I understand you originally left Tokyo due to personal issues._

Later, Daisuke will ask himself why he didn't just let slide the fact that he'd been away all this time. He didn't need to bring it up. Or had Yamazaki brought it up first?

The exact details blur against the memory of his heart pounding, a numbness in his hands that feels everything and nothing like stage fright. Daisuke doesn't get stage fright. When he's on stage, everything he feels belongs to someone else. It's easy, that way. 

Easier than trying to find his voice, and telling Yamazaki, 

_Yes,_ and, _I was dealing with some stuff. Back then. But it's not a problem now. I assure you._

Yamazaki glanced at his assistant director. The assistant director shook his head. The tiniest of movements, but Yamazaki's sigh said it all. 

_I think we all need to think of what's best for everyone, Hirose-kun,_ said Yamazaki. _You are a very talented performer. It is a shame. But I can't afford to have a company member — drop out, or be unable to handle the pressure. And I think you must do what's best for yourself, as well._

Later, Daisuke will wonder how Yamazaki found out in the first place. 

The only people who'd known about the depression were his closest friends. Even his agency hadn't known. At least, they hadn't known officially.

Word travels fast in this business. 

Anyone who knew him back then would have been able to tell, probably, if they'd just paid attention.

 _I wish you the best of luck,_ Yamazaki said. _I hope you understand._

And the thing is, Daisuke does understand. 

He'd just hoped that maybe, somehow, he could beat the odds. 

 

* * *

 

He's sitting on a bench by the river when his phone rings.

The caller ID reads: _Shoutarou_.

Daisuke hesitates a second before answering. "Hello?"

"Hello, hello," Shoutarou says brightly. "You around? Shihou cancelled on me for lunch so now I've just got two hours to kill. You at the studio?"

"Um," says Daisuke, because of all the questions he thought he might have to answer today, this wasn't one of them. It seems to be happening to him a lot. "Actually, I was in Shimokita..."

"Oh, right. You had that callback today, didn't you?"

"Yeah. This morning." He doesn't want to talk about it. Not now. Not over the phone. Not when it's been a couple hours and Sho still hasn't even texted him.

He could just call Sho. He should. 

But he doesn't know what to say. It's ridiculous to think that Sho might be disappointed in him; that's not who he is. Anyway, the only person Daisuke has to blame is himself. 

Shoutarou asks, "Where are you now?"

"Asakusa."

"What are you doing in Asakusa?"

"I was—" He'd hopped on a train and ridden it until the press of anonymous faces became unbearable, but at least it's a kind of unbearable he knows. "Just taking a walk. Sorry," Daisuke adds. "If I'd known you'd be in Shibuya today—"

"Nah, it's fine," Shoutarou says cheerfully. "I was on my way to Akiba anyway. You wanna meet there in, like, half an hour?"

Daisuke wants to say no. But _I need to talk to Sho first_ seems a feeble excuse, when Shoutarou's the one calling him, and Shoutarou's the one saying, after the pause stretches into uncomfortable seconds, voice low, 

"Daisuke, you okay?"

"I'm fine." The habitual response comes out without conscious effort. He looks across the water; he's got nowhere else to go. "And yeah, sounds good. I'll meet you there."

It's strange, because just a week ago, Daisuke would've put money on him and Shoutarou never seeing each other again if either of them could help it. It's a stupid thought, in retrospect. Being back in Tokyo would have meant working in similar circles again. It's not impossible to avoid someone — as Daisuke had learned first-hand, back then — but it would have been difficult, not to mention uncomfortable.

He'd come back to make amends, after all. For himself, if for nothing else. Finding his friends again was always a part of it. 

And if even Shoutarou, intractable as he is, can be Daisuke's friend again, then. Well. 

It'll be worth it. It has to be. 

His phone doesn't ring again until he gets off the train. _I'm at this cafe,_ Shoutarou wrote; he'd also sent his current location. _Was gonna wait for you outside but it's too damn hot._

It is getting a little warm. Daisuke didn't really notice earlier. He wonders what else he's missed. His head feels like it's in a fog.

When Daisuke arrives, Shoutarou is already seated and perusing the menu, two glasses of water on the table before him.

"I don't know if you've had lunch," Shoutarou says with no preamble. "But I could go for some ice cream. Maybe cake. Ice cream and cake?"

"Ah." Daisuke glances at the prices that he can see on the back of the menu. "I might just stick with coffee."

Shoutarou puts the menu down, really looks at him for the first time.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Daisuke lies. He snags the menu. The prices on the front aren't much better. "Just not that hungry, I guess. But if you want to get food—"

"Hey," says Shoutarou. The menu is gently pried from Daisuke's hands. "I know we aren't exactly best friends, but I think I can tell when something's wrong. What's wrong?"

"We are friends." Or, at least, they're getting there. "I'm glad we can still be friends. I hope you know that."

"Yeah. I know." Shoutarou sounds sad for some reason; Daisuke wonders if he also regrets all the years they weren't. After a couple seconds, Shoutarou says, "How'd your callback go, earlier?"

"I didn't get the part," Daisuke says. 

A pause. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." He doesn't sound terribly sorry, but then again, Shoutarou's never been one to get sentimental about facts. Even when he was just a kid, he always had a good head on his shoulders. Shoutarou asks, "What happened?"

"Nothing." When he glances up, Shoutarou is watching him closely. Daisuke looks down again. Is he that transparent? "I wasn't what they were looking for, I guess. The director talked to me about it after—"

"You talked to Yamazaki?"

Daisuke blinks. "You know him?"

Before Shoutarou can respond, a waitress comes by to ask if they're ready. And before Daisuke can say anything, Shoutarou tells her, "Two iced coffees, please. And a slice of strawberry cake."

After she's left with their order and the menu, Shoutarou says, "I worked with Yamazaki a while back. He probably doesn't even remember me." He picks up his glass of water.

Daisuke remembers something. "I also ran into Hashimoto Taito."

Shoutarou pauses, water halfway to his lips. "Taito?"

"You know him, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I just saw him the other day."

"Ah. Well, he says hi." Talking about Hashimoto is easy; talking about people generally is. Something else he and Utsumi have in common, Daisuke thinks. The thought isn't as funny as it should have been. "He's, um. He's very friendly. I can see why Utsumi likes him so much."

Shoutarou snorts at that. "Yeah, well, I'm sure Utsumi has his reasons." At Daisuke's querying look, Shoutarou just shakes his head. "Tell you later. Maybe. I've been told I should keep my nose out of other people's business."

Daisuke doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't really know what's going on with Shoutarou these days.

"You don't have to tell me," Shoutarou continues, "but you kind of look like hell and obviously something happened at that callback—"

"What? Why would you think—"

"Because you're very good at what you do." Shoutarou says it like a fact. "I mean, I know you only just came back and all, but you must be at least as good as half the wannabes who end up in Yamazaki's shows. So, what happened?"

Daisuke thinks of the way Sho told him, _I know you can do whatever you put your mind to._ Something stings at his eyes.

"It's nothing." Daisuke blinks the feeling away. "I wasn't what they were looking for. Me being away for so long didn't help."

A pause. 

"What, were they worried you'd up and leave again or something?"

"No. I don't know." Because that's the question, isn't it? Tokyo has a way of breaking you down, if you're not careful. "Gossip travels fast. I'd kind of forgotten that part."

"That's show biz for you."

"Yeah. And with the way I left I last time..." Daisuke shrugs at the tablecloth. "I guess I have a long way to go."

The waitress comes by with coffee and cake. Shoutarou offers Daisuke a fork; Daisuke declines. He knows he should eat at some point, but right now, he just isn't hungry. Coffee already feels like a bit much.

After a few bites, Shoutarou puts down his fork. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah." Daisuke catches the look in Shoutarou's eye and falters. "Um. About what?"

"When you left Tokyo. I hadn't seen you in a long time by then, but I talked to Yutaka. He called me, actually. He was trying to figure out where you'd gone. He said you'd been struggling with depression."

The ice clinks in his glass. 

"I was," Daisuke says quietly. "Yutaka was one of the only people who knew."

"Did your agency know?"

Daisuke shakes his head. "They didn't ask." There's a pause, as Shoutarou waits for him to go on. Daisuke says, "I got treatment. I'm okay now. But — I guess Yamazaki heard, and didn't want to chance it. Actually, he told me as much."

Unfair as that may be. Daisuke doesn't really want to think about it.

But Shoutarou's always been the type to think these things through. "If Yamazaki knows, other people must know. No offense to the old man, but he's not exactly a source of breaking news. He's more the type to be the last one to hear about anything."

The sinking feeling solidifies in his gut. "You think?"

"It's just a hypothesis, but." Shoutarou sighs. "Damn. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, well."

"It is what it is." Daisuke picks up his coffee. "Like I said, I knew this wouldn't be easy. It's just a little harder than I thought it would be, that's all." He manages a smile. "I think I'll be okay, as long as I have my friends with me."

Shoutarou swirls the straw in his own coffee. "You talked to Sho about this?"

"No. Not yet." His phone has stayed silent in his pocket this whole time. "He seems to have a lot on his mind lately."

"Yeah," says Shoutarou. And, after a moment, "Has he told you...?"

"He just said there's been some stuff at work." 

"I guess that's part of it." Shoutarou drinks his coffee. He seems to be weighing his words. "He's been pretty stressed out lately. He always works too hard anyway. But Kenta told me they'd barely seen each other the last couple of weeks, and they live together."

"What?"

"I don't really know what's going on with them. I mean, I still talk to buchou a bit, and theoretically Sho and I see each other at work. But he's been pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing. You know how he is." 

Shoutarou's eyes follow the swirl of ice cubes in his glass. His voice is clinical when he says, 

"I'm telling you because Sho's always been a little weird when it comes to this kind of thing. And I think seeing you again has brought back some old issues for him. I told him he should just talk it out, but if he hasn't." 

Shoutarou glances at Daisuke. 

"I guess what I'm saying is, if Sho's been acting weird, don't take it personally. He's always been like that. And he's always been a good person. Kenta wouldn't be dating him if he wasn't."

His heartbeat thuds in his ears. Which is strange, Daisuke thinks, because other sounds seem to be a little muted just then. 

"But," he hears himself say, "Sho said they broke up."

Even the pause is loud.

Shoutarou's voice is quiet. "Did he tell you that?"

 _Yes,_ Daisuke wants to say. Because that's what happened. Because that has to be what happened. Because otherwise— 

Sho had told him. Hadn't he?

Except. 

It's the memory thing again, everything blurring under the anxiety, and he knows how to deal with this, he's spent years learning how to deal with this, only it's no good, because all he remembers is Sho saying, 

_I can't tell you the whole story right now._

"I don't know," Daisuke stammers out. "We were — talking about some things, and he said— Maybe I misunderstood—"

"They did have a pretty big fight," Shoutarou says slowly. "But it happens, when you're in a long-term relationship. Anyway, Kenta's getting back tomorrow. So if you don't hear from Sho for a while, that's probably why. Just give him a little time to sort things out, yeah? He always wants to be there for a friend, but I think this has got to come first."

Shoutarou waits for him to agree. Because that's what a friend would do. That's what a friend should do. 

Daisuke had said it himself, hadn't he? 

He wants to be a real friend to Sho.

This is what friends do. 

"Of course." His voice sounds small, but he gets the words out. "Thanks for telling me. I was wondering why I hadn't heard from him. Not that— I'm glad they're working things out."

"Yeah, I know." Shoutarou watches him for a bit. "Daisuke, you sure you're feeling okay? I know you said you were, but you kind of look like you should go home and take a nap or something."

Daisuke shakes his head, but before he can actually verbalize the _no, I'll be fine_ , Shoutarou snaps his fingers as if a thought just occurred to him.

"Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask — where are you staying? Are you looking for an apartment?"

Daisuke blinks. It clears the blurry feeling in his eyes, just a bit.

"I've got a room for now," Daisuke says. "I was only staying a few weeks, originally. But I can probably renew, or." He hasn't really thought that far. He has enough money for a couple months, but after that. "I'll figure something out."

"I just thought I'd check. If you want, I can ask around and see if anybody's looking for a subletter." Shoutarou makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "I know Sho would probably put you up, since he's not using his apartment anyway. Honestly, I don't even know why he still pays for it. But anyway, I figured we might as well avoid making things more awkward than they have to be. Yeah?"

"Yeah." There's a tight feeling in his chest. Because it's true: that's exactly what Sho would do, if Daisuke asked. 

Daisuke doesn't want to be the person who asks. The kind of person who would be thoughtless enough to ask something like that, without even thinking of the consequences, taking things for granted and hurting other people, the way he used to. He's supposed to have changed.

He tells Shoutarou, "Thanks for the offer. I'll let you know, if I need help."

"You do that." Shoutarou glances at his phone and frowns. "Damn, I should be heading back soon. No, no, I got this." Shoutarou gives him a grin when Daisuke reaches for his wallet. He puts down enough cash to cover both of them. "You can pay me back when you've got a real job, huh?"

It's a joke. Of course it's a joke. Friends are supposed to laugh at each other's jokes.

Daisuke manages a smile. It'll have to do. 

Shoutarou squeezes his shoulder before he goes. "It was good seeing you. And good luck."

He watches Shoutarou leave, a friend who's nothing like the memory he'd held on to for all these years, dimpled grins and childlike mischief, a person who doesn't exist anymore, because people change.

Daisuke knows that. 

He should have known all along.

 

* * *

 

_Can we talk?_

The cursor blinks at the end of the line. A simple question. His thumb hovers over the send button. 

The last message from Sho reads, _Let's meet up and talk after._

That was yesterday. 

Was that really only yesterday?

Daisuke sits on his mattress, in a room he'd only rented for a couple weeks because that was as long as he'd dared hope to stay, when he made the decision to come back to Tokyo.

He's still wearing his clothes from earlier.

 _Show off what you got,_ Asumi told him. Well, he tried. It wasn't enough, this time. Asumi hasn't texted. Neither has Utsumi. He might have called Tomoru, but Tomoru needs to be alone right now. Yutaka isn't back in town until tomorrow.

He wants to talk to Sho.

And Sho wants to talk to him. About what, Daisuke doesn't know anymore. It's almost funny, except it's really not, because he's never been a person who's scared of not knowing. He practically operates on not knowing, not thinking about what could go wrong because what's the point of worrying?

Maybe he should have worried more.

 _Can we talk?_ reads the unsent message on his phone.

He hits backspace until it disappears.

There are some things you can't take back, even if you realize you were wrong and apologize and try to make up for it. It still doesn't change the past.

Sho wouldn't lie to him.

But Sho would lie for him. Daisuke thinks he gets the difference now. Sho is the kind of person who'll keep silent on what's bothering him, instead of hurting someone he loves. He'd rather take the blame than let Daisuke worry. And Daisuke shouldn't even be in the picture.

Kenta has been here, all this time, when Daisuke wasn't. And Kenta will always be here; Daisuke doesn't even know where he'll be next week. Or the week after that. Or if he even has a week after that.

He can see what it'll be like. Every audition. Everywhere he goes. People whispering behind his back. Directors shaking their heads, asking him to understand.

There's always another chance, there has to be, but it feels like some doors are slamming faster than he can open them, and Daisuke wonders how long he can keep running to the next one and the next one, with no idea of how this ends.

It's all going wrong again, the way it did before; he's losing everything and everyone he cares about and no one's even here to notice.

He wants to talk to Sho.

 _Let's talk after,_ Sho had written, but why? Why after? What's after today that couldn't have been said yesterday? Kenta is getting back tomorrow, and there are only two reasons Daisuke can think of as to why that should matter. Sho wants to talk to Kenta first, which means either Shoutarou is right and it was just a fight, or else Daisuke is the reason someone he cares about is going to get hurt.

It's his fault. It's all his fault. He's the reason Sho is worrying, about work and about his life. He's the reason his friends are fighting. He's the reason they all stopped being friends, back then, him and Seiya and Yutaka and Sho and Kenta and Shoutarou. 

Only, some of them had stayed together.

And now Daisuke is about to ruin that bit of happiness, too.

He just wants to talk to Sho.

But what could he possibly say to fix this? It wouldn't have happened this way if he'd just never come back. Everyone would be happier without him.

Daisuke learned some things about himself, these last five years. He's learned to recognize when he's being selfish. And he's been nothing but selfish since coming back to Tokyo. He's supposed to have changed, but apparently some people can't change. People like him.

He wants to talk to Sho because he still is a selfish person.

The light is on and he doesn't have the strength to get up, turn it off. Shadows play weird tricks across his eyelids. He doesn't cry. He can't fall asleep.

Sometime after midnight, he makes a decision.

 

* * *

 

He's checking the train schedule when his phone rings. 

It's eight-thirty in the morning. His bag is heavy over his shoulders. He considers sending the call to voicemail. But the whole point of this was that he needs Sho to know.

He answers the call.

"Hey." Sho sounds relieved. "Just wanted to see how you're doing. How'd it go, yesterday?"

Daisuke bites his lip. He's not going to cry just at the sound of Sho's voice, dammit. He can do this. 

"It went okay." The words come out steady. Normal. More or less. "They liked my audition piece. But I think the director wanted to work with more experienced dancers, so. You know. They told me I didn't get the part."

"Damn." And Daisuke knows, doesn't have to see it to know what Sho's expression looks like right now. He wishes he didn't know. Sho says, "That really sucks. Let me buy you dinner tonight, and we can talk about how much people suck in general?"

Daisuke almost laughs at that, because Sho always did know how to make him laugh. Anything to make him smile, and he knows now that it was never so much about comedy as it was about — well.

He can't keep depending on Sho to make him happy.

"No, it's—" But it's not all right, and the word refuses to be vocalized. "Thanks," he says instead. "But that's okay. You don't have to."

"Aw, come on. I want to." Daisuke can hear a jingle of keys, a sound like shoes on linoleum floors. That fond smile, audible even now. "I'm heading to another day at the office and department meeting notes and forms that all need to be filed in triplicate. Dinner with you is about the best thing—"

"I'm going back to Sendai," Daisuke says.

He closes his eyes.

"You're what?"

"I'm at the train station," Daisuke says. He can do this. "Right now. I'm waiting for my train. It's—" And what is it, exactly? A decision, of course. His decision. But how does he say that, how can he tell Sho when it also is and has been and always will be about the two of them?

 _I love you,_ he wants to say and knows he can't. Not when he's leaving. Not when leaving is the only way he has left of saying just what he means.

He can't let Sho stop him. He can't let Sho do something so stupid for him.

"I've stayed longer than I meant to." If his voice shakes a little bit, surely, it won't carry over the phone. He can blame it on poor reception. "I left Yui in a bit of a pinch when I suddenly came back to Tokyo. She was only expecting me to be away for a week or so. And I owe her."

"That's bullshit," Sho says flatly. "Are you the kind of person who'd give up just because of— No. I know you're not that kind of person. What the hell happened?"

Daisuke is not going to cry. Not at the sound of Sho's voice, and not at the unwavering faith he can hear in that furious tone.

"Nothing," he chokes out. "It's fine. Sho—" He almost doesn't make it past that word. "I have to go. My train will be here soon."

"Daisuke—"

He hangs up without saying goodbye.


	13. Twelve

For a minute, he just stands there, eyes closed and phone clutched to his chest like a charm. He knows it's just a piece of plastic. He knows it's for the best. Charms are like fortunes, and neither are real. You have to make your own luck, your own decisions.

He'll be fine in a minute.

Above his head, the PA chimes.

" _Attention passengers,_ " a woman's voice announces. " _Attention passengers. The nine o'clock train to Sendai has been delayed._ "

Daisuke opens his eyes. On the train schedule, the line he'd been looking at suddenly flickers from _ARRIVING: 15 MIN_ to _UPDATING..._

" _We apologize for the inconvenience. The nine o'clock train from Tokyo to Sendai has been delayed._ "

The PA turns off.

Around him, commuters shake their heads and check their phones. Daisuke stares at the schedule in incomprehension. But he's decided to leave, is all he can think. So why? He's made the right decision, so why—

His phone rings again.

He nearly declines the call before noticing the caller ID. He slowly raises the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Oh, thank god! You're still here! Wait, you are still here, aren't you? You're here — there — at the train station, right?" Yutaka is practically tripping over his own words in his haste to get them out. 

In the background, Daisuke can hear the sounds of traffic.

He turns away from the train schedule. "Yeah, I'm — my train's late."

" _That's great!_ " Yutaka shouts, and Daisuke pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing. "I mean, that's not great for public transit, obviously, but — look. Just stay put, okay? Stay right where you are. Get away from the platform and stay right where you are. I'm on my way."

"You're— Wait, what?"

"Running over there as we speak— Ah! Sorry! Excuse me!" The line goes fuzzy while Yutaka shouts an apology at, presumably, some pedestrian he'd nearly run over. "—really is an emergency! ...Daisuke? Hello? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I am. But." Daisuke tries to clear his head. "Yuu, what are you doing?"

"Stopping you from being an idiot, of course." Yutaka sounds a bit out of breath from running. Not that it stops him from chattering on, "Yes, I know, ideally Sho would be the one making this mad dash to the train station, and honestly, I'm getting a bit too old to be running ten blocks before I've even had my coffee. But I'm on my way, so you two will just have to have your grand romantic moment later."

"You've been watching too many dramas."

"Got nothing better to do. My life's not nearly as exciting as yours."

"Trade you," Daisuke tries to joke, and it falls completely flat.

"Hey," says Yutaka, voice gentling. "It's gonna be okay, yeah? You're gonna be fine."

"You can't just say that."

"Sure I can. Sho told me what happened. And whatever's going on through your head right now, just listen to me for a sec, all right? Because there's always the next audition. There's always another job. You'll get there. Whatever happens, you still have people who care about you. You have me and Sho and—"

"But that's why." Daisuke can hear his own voice breaking. "That's why I have to leave. I can't ruin his life again."

"You did nothing of the sort. What are you talking about?"

"I hurt him before, and I'm doing it again. We keep doing that. And I know he'll just blame himself, when it's always been—" He breathes, and his breath makes a funny sound. "Just, tell him for me, okay? I didn't mean to mess up things between him and Kenta. And I won't. That's why I have to go—"

"You stay right where you are, Hirose Daisuke!"

Yutaka's voice is like a whip, and Daisuke jumps despite himself. He hasn't moved since he answered the call. His train is still delayed. He tries to say as much, and Yutaka cuts him off before he can even start, 

"I don't know exactly what happened between you two while I was gone — and believe me, we are going to talk about this — but I can tell you this much right now: Jinnai Sho has been in love with you since the day you met. And that's nothing against Kenta, because they're both my friends and I want all my friends to be happy — are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Daisuke manages.

"Because I ran into Kenta in Osaka, and he's obviously got some things to figure out on his own, and I'd say he's handling it better than most people, but—"

"He's— What?"

"Just listen, okay? The two of them have their own problems, and that's between them. That's not on you. You're not going to fix anything by running away. You hear me?"

Yutaka would be a terrible teacher, some part of Daisuke notes; his voice has softened with worry long before the end of his lecture. 

The rest of Daisuke's mind is trying to absorb what Yutaka just said.

"But," he hears himself protest. "Shoutarou said—"

"Did you even talk to Sho about this?"

"No." Except he had, hadn't he? They had talked. They'd sat in a park for hours and talked about everything, and promised to figure out the rest of it. Together. 

Sho wouldn't lie to him.

Daisuke says, "We did. But I wasn't sure..."

"Dai-chan," Yutaka says, fond exasperation coloring his voice. "Sho's about the surest thing you can be sure about. Everything else aside, he cares about you. And you love him." He says it like that's a perfectly acceptable thing to be talking about, over the phone, in public. When Daisuke tries to protest, Yutaka talks right over him, "Besides, you promised me you wouldn't disappear on us again."

"I know, but—"

But what? 

He'd promised, hadn't he? The first day he'd been back in Tokyo, in Yutaka's dressing room, when he had no idea how this would go but knew that he had to try.

And he still doesn't know how this ends. But it doesn't excuse him from trying.

That hasn't changed.

But he'd only been thinking about himself, when he made that promise.

"Whatever it is, you'll figure it out." Yutaka says, and the sounds of the street fade from his end of the line. "We can even talk right now if you want. You're lucky my office is close by. Now, where are you?"

And — hang on. "Your office isn't anywhere near here."

"Sure it is. I walk past Tokyo Station every day—"

"Yuu," Daisuke says. "I'm at Ueno."

There's a long pause.

And Daisuke starts laughing then, maybe a little hysterically, because it hurts his chest, but honestly, what else is he supposed to do? It's not quite nine in the morning and over the phone, Yutaka is screeching, 

"Oh my god, Daisuke! Who still takes the train from Ueno? No, don't even answer that. Don't— You just stay there! You hear me? I'll be over in—"

He never hears the actual ETA, because right then someone shouts—

"Daisuke!"

—and when he looks up, there's Sho. He's wearing his glasses, his tie is askew. People are staring, and Daisuke can't even care about that right now. Because who does this? Who rushes to Ueno at eighty-thirty on a weekday morning, for someone who's already said he's leaving, someone who's left before and may just leave again? Who has that kind of faith, and who could possibly be worth it?

The answer is running toward him, heedless of the looks being thrown his way.

And that's when Daisuke starts to cry. 

He's practically sobbing by the time Sho slows to a stop in front of him. Daisuke wipes furiously at his eyes, but it doesn't help. 

Sho takes the phone from his hands — "Yutaka? Yeah, it's me. No, I've got it. Thank you. Seriously." — and then there are arms around Daisuke's shoulders, pulling him close.

"You can tell me what happened later," Sho says. "And if you're still serious about leaving — then that's your choice. But at least tell me why this time."

Daisuke clings to him, face pressed against the crisp collar of his shirt. He must have been getting ready for work when he called. 

Sho's going to be late for work because of him.

The thought makes him pull away. Or try to, at least; Sho doesn't let him.

"Daisuke," Sho says. "Please talk to me."

"I don't want to go," Daisuke blurts. And he can hear it, how desperate his own voice sounds, even without the way Sho's hands tighten on his arms. "And I'm not giving up, you know I don't want to give up. But I don't know how long it's going to take, and I don't know if it'll work out, any of it. And I don't know—"

"You know being in Tokyo would help," Sho says quietly. "Not Sendai. What can you do in Sendai that you can't do here?"

Daisuke shakes his head. He's not disagreeing. It's just.

"I want to stay in Tokyo," he says. Admits. It's selfish, but it's also true. "I could start over somewhere else, but— Even if it takes years for people to forget gossip about me, I want to be here."

A pause. "What do you mean by gossip?"

"The director found out why I left, last time. That's why I didn't get the part. And Shoutarou said—"

"Shoutarou?"

"He said if Yamazaki knew, then other people must have heard as well. And he's right. Word travels fast. Probably everyone knows."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I could find out." Daisuke feels like a laugh would help that line, but he doesn't have the strength. "I'm sure I will, if I keep at it."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

It's the easiest word he's said all day, and for some reason it makes Sho smile at him. 

"Good," is all he says.

Daisuke wants to ask him why. How can he say that, when he doesn't know either, and the very fact of Daisuke being here is a question mark over both their lives.

 _Kenta's getting back tomorrow,_ a voice in his head echoes. Not tomorrow. Today.

 _Talk to him,_ a different voice urges. This one sounds more like Yutaka.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Be honest with me. Not that— I just need to know."

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know, I promise."

"What you said on Monday. At the park." A breath to steady himself. "Did you really break up with Kenta?"

His tie is a mess, Daisuke notes; pulled out of shape as if it'd caught on something. His hands itch with the urge to straighten it.

Sho says, "No," and Daisuke shuts his eyes, because that's exactly what he's been afraid of hearing — except then Sho says, "He broke up with me."

The tie feels rough under his fingers. It's a cheap material. He doesn't remember moving his hand. 

"Daisuke."

He opens his eyes.

"I would never lie to you," Sho says. "I meant it, and I'll always mean it when I say I love you. You just have to let me live up to it."

The way Sho's looking at him makes Daisuke want to apologize for even asking, for ever thinking that this might be anything but exactly what it is, only there's no room for apologies between them now.

Sho is kissing him in the middle of a crowded train station, Tokyo moving at its breakneck pace, tomorrow as uncertain as it's ever been, and Daisuke has never felt more at home.

"We'll figure it out," Sho promises him. "Together."

 

* * *

 

He stays with Daisuke until Yutaka arrives, frazzled but relieved and practically sweeping Daisuke off his feet with the force of his embrace. 

"Don't you ever scare us like that again," Sho hears Yutaka whisper, and Daisuke nods.

He's going to be okay. 

Sho knows that, intellectually, and he also knows that Daisuke is stronger than he looks. Daisuke looks like something that'll shatter if held too tight, but Yutaka is still hugging him, and Daisuke is hugging back.

They're going to be okay. 

Yutaka produces a packet of tissues from somewhere on his person. While Daisuke tries to dry his eyes and blow his nose as inconspicuously as possible, Yutaka turns to Sho. 

"I can take it from here, if you need to get to work."

What he _needs_ to do is see Daisuke back to Yutaka's place, safe and sound. What he needs to do is make sure Daisuke never looks this close to breaking again. 

But he has to get to work. He's late enough as it is, and hovering over Daisuke — when Yutaka is right here and perfectly capable of hovering, probably with more style — it might make him feel better, but it's not actually going to help anyone.

It's going to be okay, he tells himself. It will be.

"Thank you," he tells Yutaka, and not for the first time that morning. "Call me if…"

"I will." Yutaka takes Daisuke's suitcase and puts an arm around his shoulders. Sho doesn't think he's imagining the clucking sound of a mother hen. "Come on, Dai-chan. Let's get you home."

"Oh," Daisuke mutters. "Actually, I checked out of— I don't—"

"I figured. You're staying with me, and no arguments about my taste in interior decor! I happen to have been named the Homemaking King, you know. Twice."

"By what?" Daisuke almost laughs. "A Nico Nico instant poll?"

Yutaka smiles at Daisuke, who smiles back, and Sho breathes a little easier.

"Come by tonight," Yutaka says to Sho. "We'll have dinner. Just the three of us."

"All right." Sho reaches for Daisuke's hand, as much to reassure as to be reassured. Daisuke squeezes his hand and manages another smile for him.

They'll figure it out. 

And Sho is going to figure out what happened. He turns it over in his mind, sitting at his desk, sorting files that Sakamoto hands him on autopilot. Something has been nagging at him, a vague sense of unease that, as the day wears on, starts feeling less like paranoia and more like the beginnings of an unpleasant realization.

He thinks about what Daisuke had told him, the last couple of days, and what Daisuke told him at the station. Sho might not know this Yamazaki person, but he has spent the better part of ten years in this industry, this company. When you've been around long enough, everyone ends up being more or less an acquaintance through mutual acquaintance.

He spends his fifteen-minute lunch break looking up phone numbers. Then he texts Daisuke to say he'll be at work late, and they should have dinner without him, but he'll definitely stop by Yutaka's place on his way home.

Daisuke writes back, _Okay :)_ , and, _Sorry for causing all this trouble_

 _Stop that,_ Sho tells him. _I'll see you soon._

 

* * *

 

Around five, Tomoru calls to ask if he can come by.

"I'm at Yutaka's," Daisuke says, and doesn't quite know what else to say without going through the whole thing again. He'd slept a couple hours, finally — Yutaka's orders — but he still feels wrung out.

Tomoru just says, "Okay," without missing a single beat, and, "I can be there in half an hour, if you text me the address."

And he really shouldn't even be surprised anymore, Daisuke thinks, washing his face and contemplating a change of clothes before deciding — it's Tomoru. If you can't look a little disheveled in front of your best friend, then when can you?

Yutaka has gone out for groceries. Daisuke lets Tomoru in when he knocks. 

"Nice place," Tomoru says. 

And it is. Yutaka wasn't kidding about his interest in interior design. The apartment looks like a magazine dream, except better, because it's lived in. It reminds him of Yutaka in the best way, and Daisuke is not going to cry over comfortable throw pillows and art pop prints.

He gestures for Tomoru to sit. "Do you want tea or something?" It occurs to him he's not entirely sure where Yutaka keeps anything in the kitchen.

Tomoru takes ahold of his hand before he can walk away. "I'm fine, Dai-chan. Are you?"

Daisuke sits down.

"How did you know?" he asks for lack of a better place to start.

"Coincidence, mostly." Tomoru has the grace to shrug at Daisuke's skeptical look. "I got a text from Jin asking if you were all right, because he bumped into Hashimoto Taito, who mentioned something about not realizing you'd gotten off on the wrong foot with — what's that director's name?"

"Yamazaki," Daisuke says on autopilot. He's trying to file away the information, but it refuses to be put aside. Even Jin, who doesn't believe in gossip.

Literally everyone knows. 

A touch on his wrist makes him look up. "Stories get exaggerated when they're retold. I thought I'd better talk to you myself."

"I'm okay." Or at least, better than this morning. "I did run into Hashimoto yesterday, at the callback. But he wasn't around after..." He's having trouble stringing together the thought. "How did he find out?"

"About what?"

"You know."

"I don't. Dai-chan." Tomoru looks both conflicted and resigned; Daisuke's never seen anything like it. "I don't know everything. I had a bad feeling when I didn't hear from you yesterday, and when I got that text from Jin — we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just came to make sure you're okay."

He really is still on hair trigger, Daisuke thinks. That prickling sensation in his eyes is starting to get old. 

"I'll be fine." That much, he has to believe is true. "I didn't make a great impression with that director. Hashimoto got that part right. And I — freaked out a bit, I guess." He pauses again to gather his thoughts. In the silence, Tomoru doesn't pry for more detail or try to brush it off with a joke.

Daisuke doesn't know what he did right to deserve friends like this.

He says, "I nearly went back to Sendai," and for a second, Tomoru's hand tightens around his. "I didn't. Obviously. Yutaka talked some sense into me."

"Are you still thinking of leaving?"

Daisuke shakes his head. "I want to be here, and — Yutaka said I could stay with him, since I don't really have a place right now. But I'm going to find a place." The determination in his own voice catches him off guard. But it is what he's going to do, he knows after letting that idea settle down. He's made his decision, and he's going to do it right.

There are a lot of things he's going to do right, this time around.

Tomoru says, "So what actually happened?"

Daisuke blinks. "What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't leave Tokyo just because you didn't get a role." Tomoru glances around Yutaka's apartment. "Did something happen with Jinnai?"

"How did you jump to—"

"You're not staying with him," Tomoru points out. "You told me you two were okay, but now you're here, and he's—"

"He's at work," Daisuke says quickly. "We're fine. Everything's— Anyway, Yutaka has a spare room, so it's just easier."

There's no point bringing up the rest of it. That's something between him and Sho. And if for some reason that makes him feel guilty — it's probably just habit. Usually, he tells Tomoru everything.

"Sorry," Tomoru says, and Daisuke nearly jumps at the shock of hearing that word coming out of his best friend's mouth. When he looks up, Tomoru is wearing a crooked smile. "I tend to expect the worst, sometimes. It's a bad habit. I'm sorry, Dai-chan. I didn't mean it that way."

"It's okay." He doesn't blame Tomoru, either. "I know you're just looking out for me."

"And here I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"I'm smarter than I look."

"I know."

Daisuke smiles back and Tomoru squeezes his hand, both of them wedged between the excessive number of throw pillows on Yutaka's L-shaped couch. It's actually surprisingly comfortable. Yutaka's whole apartment is designed for sharing, laughing, being with other people, and Daisuke is glad he gets to be one of them.

He's glad he has Tomoru, too. 

He hears himself ask, "Do you still talk to Someya?"

Tomoru seems surprised by the sudden change in conversation. "No, not really." Surprised enough to answer directly, even. Daisuke makes a note to try this more often. Tomoru says, "I've run into him a couple times, on shoots, but we don't really hang out anymore."

"You think he'd still want to?"

"What? Hang out?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe, if he has time. Why?"

"I just thought it'd be nice, you know. We all used to be good friends. I miss him, too."

A corner of Tomoru's mouth quirks upward, not quite turning into a smile. "I appreciate it, Dai-chan. But Some really is hard to get ahold of. It's just one of those things." A pause. "Anyway, I've got you and Isedai and — Jin, too, now that he's actually using the Line group again. And where Isedai's around, Kou-chan's not far behind. You need people like that."

 _Family,_ he doesn't say, but Daisuke hears it.

"What happened with you and Tsune-kun?"

He didn't mean to say that.

But they were kind of talking about it, weren't they? Daisuke thinks about the throwaway comments, the pauses; things said by other people, and the things Tomoru had told him.

He tells Tomoru everything, but the reverse isn't always true.

Tomoru looks at him for a long moment.

He sits back, putting a little space between them. Daisuke almost apologizes — obviously, he shouldn't have asked — but Tomoru says,

"He used to send me flowers."

"What?" Daisuke isn't sure if his own confusion is at the answer, or the fact that Tomoru answered at all.

But Tomoru continues, "He used to do these things. I don't know if we were seeing each other, exactly. We saw each other. We'd spend time together, go see a show or stay up late talking, normal things — and then he'd go and do something like, make a reservation at a restaurant where they don't even list the prices on the menu. Neither of us were making enough to be doing things like that."

Tomoru looks down at his hands, nothing but empty air between his fingers. "I think if he'd just asked me out, I would have said yes. But who knows. He just kept doing these things, and I went along with it. Maybe if I'd just said something. I used to think I was being appallingly obvious. Looking back, I know I should have just said something."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to be obvious." That crooked smile again, faint as a whisper. "It's one of my bad habits."

If Tomoru was sitting a little closer, Daisuke would have hugged him. That's probably why he'd moved back. Daisuke asks, 

"What happened?"

"At some point, he got tired of it." Tomoru could have been talking about the weather, for all the inflection in his words. "He stopped sending flowers. He stopped making plans. We both have busy lives, and we just. Stopped seeing each other."

Tomoru's expression doesn't change, but the way he shrugs — like it's no big deal — just something that happens, because that's the way it is — makes Daisuke reach for his hand.

Tomoru lets him, for a second, before pulling away. 

"Anyway," Tomoru says, "if you want to catch up. We could probably get ahold of him for a reunion, as Isedai keeps suggesting. It's nothing as dramatic as what Jun seems to think—"

"No, don't." Daisuke shakes his head. "You shouldn't do that for me."

"It's no big deal."

"No. But if you meet up with Tsune-kun, it should be because you wanted to."

The way Tomoru looks at him makes Daisuke remember that, even though he almost never thinks about it, Tomoru is only two years older than him. And they've known each other a long, long time.

Tomoru cracks a smile. A real one, this time. 

"You really have gotten pretty smart, huh."

Daisuke smiles back at him. "I've learned a thing or two."

 

* * *

 

By the time he gets to Yutaka's place, it's already half past ten and Daisuke is half-asleep on his feet. He'd been nodding off since dinner, Yutaka sighs. But Daisuke insisted on staying up until Sho got there.

 _I'll come by tomorrow,_ Sho promises. _I'm not going anywhere. Get some rest._

Daisuke smiles at him, better than a promise. _Okay,_ he says, and the rest of whatever he wants to say is cut off by an enormous yawn. Yutaka shoos him off to bed.

"You stay," Yutaka tells Sho. "I'll make some tea. Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine. You don't need to—"

"I want to talk to you. Sit."

Yutaka makes a pot of something that smells like a bakery crossed with a rose garden. They sit at the kitchen table and Sho pretends to drink it. 

"How's work? Still super busy?"

Sho blinks at the question. "You wanted to talk to me about work?"

"Daisuke said you've had a lot on your mind lately. He said it was work related." Yutaka tilts his head, studying Sho. "You do look pretty stressed out."

"I'm fine. It's just—" Does he need to tell Yutaka, really? Whatever's happening at work, whatever might be happening, it's his own problem.

Yutaka says, "I'm your friend, too, aren't I?"

"What?"

"You look like you're going to hurt yourself trying to think up a diplomatic response." Yutaka sounds mostly amused. "This is me you're talking to. I ran to Tokyo Station then Ueno this morning when you called. I think you can tell me what's bothering you."

"It's nothing," Sho says, and Yutaka raises one eyebrow. "Just. Don't tell Daisuke. I don't want him worrying about it."

Yutaka's eyebrows dip down. "This isn't about Kenta, is it?"

"No, it's— What?"

"Because I was kind of wondering. Not that I don't trust you all to be adults, but you can't blame me for being curious."

Sho opens his mouth and finds he doesn't even know how to counter that. He'd almost forgotten what a conversation with Yutaka can be like; the man follows his own logic.

"We broke up," he says finally.

Yutaka nods. "I know."

Sho stares at him. Well, then. "Daisuke already told you."

"Yes. But also, I saw Kenta in Osaka." Yutaka pours himself another cup of tea. "Honestly, the pair of you. It's a good thing I know you're both hopeless softies, because you're also two of the most passive-aggressive people I know."

And Sho — doesn't know what to say to that, either.

Probably because it's true.

"How is he?" 

Yutaka gives him a look; too kind to be smug, too knowing to be sympathetic. "He's been better, but there's not much we can do about it from here. Anyway, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why do you look like that?"

"I can't help my face, Kobayashi-san."

"Shut up." Yutaka laughs anyway. "But seriously. Something's bothering you, it's not work, and it's not your ex, so what is it?"

His cup of tea has gone cold, barely drunk. 

"It's Shoutarou," he says.

"What did he do?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

The smile slips from Yutaka's face. Yutaka is almost always smiling, Sho realizes suddenly; a hint of kindness or a dash of the irreverent, only noticeable when it's gone. He should start paying more attention to his friends. 

Shoutarou had told him as much, hadn't he? He tends to get caught up in his own head and miss the obvious signs.

"Daisuke mentioned something," Yutaka says. "I assumed it was just because you haven't really talked to anyone about it, and Shoutarou didn't know either."

"Know what?"

"That you and Kenta broke up."

Sho looks up from his tea. "What?"

"He and Daisuke met up yesterday," Yutaka says. "Didn't Daisuke tell you?"

"I haven't really talked to him." Either of them. Though he'd spent too much time this afternoon sneaking out to the fire escape, calling the few people he could trust to pass the word along without spreading it any further than it needed to go.

 _It's a long story,_ he'd explained, to Mitsuya and Yuuki and Ryousuke. _But do you know anyone who might know?_

Yuuki joked that he'd check the phone book. Ryousuke flat out told him no. Mitsuya just made a humming sound, made no promises but promised he'd ask around. And a couple hours later, Yamazaki Kensho called Sho himself to reassure him that yes, Ohkubo-kun had stopped by on Tuesday, but it was a social visit, no conflict of interest, nothing for management to worry about, terribly sorry for any misunderstanding.

Sho doesn't know what Mitsuya said or who he said it to. He doubts he'll ever find out.

There's more to this than just a misunderstanding.

Yutaka says, "Shoutarou told Daisuke that he was getting between you and Kenta."

An echo of something else Shoutarou had told him, 

_What happens when — not if, when — he leaves again?_

His stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with the weird herbal tea. The little crease on Yutaka's forehead looks completely out of place. 

"You need to talk to him," Yutaka says.

"Yeah." He knows he does.

 

* * *

 

On Friday, even the most dedicated employee feels justified in leaving a little early. After Fujiwara goes home — stopping by his desk to tell Sho not to stay too long; Touya-san appreciates his work, but there's no need to live at the office — it's just him and a silent array of desks. 

Not everyone has left the building, of course. There'll be a couple stragglers on the fire escape, sneaking one last cigarette before calling it a day. Some poor soul in management, stuck with babysitting duty. From the emergency stairwell you can hear the faint echo of laughter and voices; there's a break room, two floors down, where the new kids will be hanging out, hoping to get on the good side of whichever senpai happens to be around.

He's been there. And he knows all this, because he's been here for over ten years. Long enough to get to know a place, and a person.

He sends a text: _Come up to the office. I need to talk to you._

There's no reply. He picks up an inventory report, one he's already read before, and waits. 

The clock on the wall ticks. One minute. Two.

Five and a half minutes later, the door opens. 

"Why are you here so late?"

Across the room, Shoutarou stands by the door. Arms crossed but not quite casual; from here, Sho can't tell if the look in his eyes is wariness or hope.

He puts down the report. "I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Daisuke."

Whatever Shoutarou was feeling before, it disappears in a flash of sullenness. He makes to leave. "I'm not having this fight with you again. Good night, Sho."

"You walk out that door, and I'm calling your manager."

"Excuse me?"

"Does she know where you went on Tuesday?"

Shoutarou turns around. "My manager doesn't babysit me. And how is that any of your business?"

"You made it my business," Sho says, "when you went to Yamazaki Kensho and told him whatever you did."

Shoutarou looks at him, expression blank.

For a split second, Sho thinks — he's got it completely wrong. The pieces he's been trying to put together, references and anecdotes and second-hand hearsay, it's all a huge misunderstanding. Shoutarou wouldn't hurt Daisuke on purpose. For all his faults and all his infuriating habits, he's still a good person. He's Sho's friend, and he wouldn't do something like that.

Except.

Shoutarou looks down. When he looks back up, the sullen anger has morphed into some kind of defiance. _Defiance._ As if he has a right to ask things like,

"Who told you that?"

Sho chokes back the first words that try to escape. _Why_ , and _How could you,_ and _Do you even realize what you did?_ None of it's relevant. 

Neither is the question. "That's not the point."

"It was Daisuke, wasn't it?" When he doesn't respond, because it's still irrelevant, Shoutarou balls his hands into fists. "It was, wasn't it! I can't believe you sometimes, you know that? I can't believe you'd still take his side, even now, even when—"

"Yamazaki told me himself," Sho snaps. "You think you're the only person with contacts?"

"I think it's my business, if I choose to worry about my friends!"

Friends.

The person looking at him isn't his friend. Isn't the kid who barnacled his way into Sho's life, all of fifteen years old and confident beyond his years, loyal to the bone and never taking no for an answer, because Sho's never had a real reason to.

He says, "I don't remember asking for your help," and, "Who else did you tell?"

"No one. What does it matter? It was always going to get out, one way or another. You've been in the business long enough to know."

"I know people who've gotten through worse."

"Yeah, well, so do I! Everyone deals with shit. But you know what the difference is? Other people don't give up. Other people stick around. He didn't, and he's not going to, and if he can't even handle this—"

"He's not going anywhere."

"You don't know that!" 

"I think I'd know better than you!"

Shoutarou comes to a dead stop, the other side of the desk, white-knuckled hands on white plastic edge. Sho stares down at him. He doesn't remember standing up, but here they are. He can see the way Shoutarou's throat works, words or questions, not quite voiced. 

If anyone needs answers here, it's Sho.

"What were you trying to prove? Going behind his back, lying. That you could — what, scare him off?"

"If he's that fragile, then he has no business—"

"You told Daisuke I was getting back together with Kenta." 

Shoutarou's mouth snaps shut. So that's true, too; it wasn't an accident or misunderstanding. Sho says,

"Tell me why."

"Why what?

"Why you lied to his face. Why, when you knew. You were the first person I told, so _why_ the hell—"

"Because you're _making a mistake!_ " 

And of all things, this is what makes Shoutarou finally explode. He'd expected it, planned for it, so that there'd be no one around; that outburst would have carried right down the hall, closed door or no closed door. 

"You are making the biggest goddamn mistake of your life, and sooner or later, you're going to wake up and realize it. Hirose Daisuke has been back for all of _three weeks_ and you're going around like you've hit your head and forgotten everything that happened before and it's fucking killing me, seeing you like this!"

"Like what?" Sho demands. "Please tell me, just _what_ exactly do you think I should be doing since you're determined to run my goddamn life—"

"Do you even realize what you're doing?" Shoutarou gets his volume under control; it does nothing for the fury in his voice. "The people you're hurting, while you've been stuck on him? I'm amazed you can even do your job — and honestly, I don't care. That's your business, and unlike you, I don't go bringing my friends' _jobs_ into a fight."

"Oh, right, because what you did to Daisuke will have absolutely no effect on his career!"

"I didn't tell Yamazaki anything that wasn't true!"

"You," Sho snarls, "nearly made Daisuke run back to Sendai, and with the poison you told him, no one would have found him this time."

A flash of something in Shoutarou's eyes; not quite guilt, and gone too quickly to read. "That's his problem. I'm sorry, but if he can't handle being in Tokyo—"

" _You're_ sorry?"

"No, not even a little! Is that what you want to hear?"

"What the hell did Daisuke ever do to you—"

" _He ruins you!_ " The shout is a half-broken sound, as if the words have always been on the tip of his tongue. "He did it before and he's doing it again, and you can't even _see_ — you've gone right back to being that person who can't even see the big picture because all you care about is _him_ , and that scares the shit out of me, Sho!"

"Why? No, really, tell me why! How the hell is it any of your business who or what I care about—"

"You care about him _over all of us!_ Me and Kenta and god knows who else, even though we're the ones who've always been here for you, and you don't even get it, do you?" His voice is shaking now. Uncertain. Shoutarou, who's never even known the word hesitation, much less fear. "You'd actually choose him over Kenta. _Kenta_. And if..." He doesn't finish the sentence.

"What," Sho asks. "If _what_ , Shoutarou!"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"No. You're telling me, once and for all, just what it is you think—"

"I think if you'd throw Kenta aside for him, then what's to stop you doing the same with me!"

They stare at each other, across an office desk. After hours, just the two of them. Ten years ago they would have been two floors down, in the break room, exhausted but laughing and dreaming of what's next. Making plans and making friends, never imagining either could possibly fail.

And after everything, this is what Shoutarou thinks of him. 

"I don't choose between my friends." His voice is barely a whisper; it carries in the dead silence. "Neither does Daisuke. If you actually knew him, like you insist you know and care about your supposed friends — you would've known that." The kid opens his mouth to interrupt; Sho doesn't give him a chance. "Daisuke is back and he's not leaving, so get used to it. He's not going anywhere. Not while I have a say in it. And I plan to."

A second passes. Two. 

Shoutarou says, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what you think it means." It's none of his business, but if this is what it takes to make him understand. This was always the part Shoutarou just couldn't seem to get. "People change. So you can go tell anyone you want whatever you want, about me or Kenta or whatever you think up next. It won't change a single thing. I don't need you to look out for me, and I don't need you to even care. The only thing I need you to do is to get that through your head."

Shoutarou stares at him, wordless. Sho continues, "Whatever happens between Daisuke and me, it's not your problem to worry about or solve. And whatever Daisuke chooses to do, now that he's back, you're not going to get in the way. I don't ever want to hear about you pulling what you did with Yamazaki again. And believe me, I _will_ find out."

He waits for acknowledgement. The seconds pass, until finally, Shoutarou says,

"You can't protect him from everything."

"I can at least protect him from people like you." People who should have been on his side to begin with, he doesn't add. There's no point. "We're done here."

"Sho, would you please just listen—"

"We're done, Shoutarou." It's half past seven, according to the office clock. He straightens a pile of papers on his desk, starts gathering up his things. "Go back to the break room or wherever you need to go. I'm going to lock up the office."

He puts the last of his belongings in his briefcase. A couple reports that need proofing. A pen or two to help. He doesn't hear Shoutarou move, but the door snicks audibly when it opens and swings shut.

They went wrong somewhere, he knows, and someday he might figure out when and where and how. Someday, they might even forgive each other, if they ever come to an agreement on what that word means. Sho learned the hard way. People have always said that about them: they're far too much alike.

They've made their decisions, both of them. And life only moves in one direction.

Sho picks up his briefcase. He turns off the lights and doesn't look back.

 

* * *

 

 _I'll be out late,_ reads the group message from Yutaka. _There's leftovers in the fridge, help yourself! Don't wait up for me._

 _Hot date?_ is the follow-up question from Daisuke. 

To which Yutaka responded with a smiling emoticon.

Sho reads the exchange while walking up to the apartment. He wonders if he should ask Daisuke, or if that would be naive. It's hard to tell, with Yutaka.

He rings the doorbell.

"It's unlocked!"

He walks into the living room to find Daisuke on the couch, curled up in what looks like three layers of blankets. Cold air raises goosebumps across his skin; the AC is on full blast.

"Were you expecting an arctic visitor?"

Daisuke makes a face at him. At least, Sho thinks he does; it's hard to tell when he's cocooned up to his nose. "It's been like that all afternoon." Daisuke's voice is a pitiful mumble. "And Yutaka's out with his secret boyfriend, so he's not even checking his messages. Not that Yutaka would know how to fix it, but still."

"These things do come with instruction manuals. Or, you know. The internet."

"I tried that." Daisuke sounds dejected. "I couldn't figure it out. Honestly, Yutaka needs to stop pretending he's not seeing someone when he obviously is. If it was just a random date, he'd tell me about it. But instead he's being all cryptic. What's the point of a boyfriend if you're not going to have him around for when appliances break?"

Sho can't help but smile to himself. "Fair enough." He takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

It's the mental image of Daisuke, slowly collecting blankets as afternoon turns into evening, phone screen glowing in what is now a makeshift blanket fort as he googles _how to fix aircon_ — and probably getting sidetracked into other things en route. It's unimaginably mundane, as close to ordinary as he could ever have hoped.

He could get used to this.

The AC might actually be broken, Sho concludes after trying every trick he can think of — up to and including giving it a good hard whack — but he does at least manage to set it back to fan mode instead of frozen hell.

"It'll warm up in a sec." Sho loosens his tie; he's wrinkled from wrestling with the AC anyway. He glances at the couch to find that Daisuke still hasn't moved. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," says Daisuke in a small voice.

Sho sits down next to him. "You sure? You didn't get sick, did you?"

He reaches out to touch Daisuke's forehead — between everything that's happened, and being locked in a freezing apartment all day — but Daisuke shifts away, dislodging the blanket with his movement and—

There's a hint of color on his cheeks.

Sho drops his hand. 

Daisuke pulls his knees up to his chest, as if that'll do anything to mask the blush. "I was kidding," he mumbles. "About boyfriends only being good for fixing things."

"Ah." Sho somehow manages to keep his voice deadpan. "Glad to hear it. I'd be getting pretty poor marks if that was the case."

Daisuke gets a scrunchy look on his face, but the annoyance was always going to lose out. He kicks off the blankets and lets Sho touch his cheek, this time. A brush of warmth against his fingertips. A smile returning his.

"I know Yutaka left food in the fridge," Sho says after a bit. "But how would you like to go out for dinner?"

"This time on a Friday?" Daisuke sounds more contemplative than skeptical. "Everywhere's going to be crowded."

"We don't have to, if you don't want. But I thought it'd be nice."

"Getting out of the house?"

"Taking you on a date." 

Daisuke blinks at him, then ducks his head. "You don't have to do that."

"I kind of do." Sho pulls the blankets away before Daisuke can hide under them again. "I'm pretty shit at fixing appliances, so gotta make up for it somehow."

"Shut up," says Daisuke, but he's smiling when Sho tugs him to his feet. He's wearing striped wool socks and a sweater that definitely belongs to Yutaka, going by the obnoxiously sequined skates on the front. 

"Nice outfit," Sho remarks. "Where'd you find it? Wonderland?"

"Yeah," says Daisuke, not missing a beat. "Same place you found those fox vests."

Sho laughs, and Daisuke holds out for all of maybe half a second before giggling as well. His hands are warm, despite the apartment's lingering chill.

"Glad you're feeling better," Sho tells him.

"Yeah." Daisuke smiles back. "How was your day?"

"Much improved, now that I'm home."

"I think Yutaka might object to you moving in just like that."

"Good point. Then again, maybe he'll secretly move in with his secret boyfriend. Everybody wins." 

Daisuke rolls his eyes — "Doubt it'll be that easy" — and Sho presses a kiss to his forehead. 

"No," he agrees. "But we'll figure it out."

"Yeah." The way Daisuke looks at him leaves no room for doubt. "I know we will."


	14. Epilogue

_Some Time Later_

"Yeah! To Daisuke!"

"Cool your jets, dude. They haven't even ordered drinks yet."

"What? Oh. Huh. What are you guys waiting for?"

"People are running late. Sit your ass down, Terayama." Sho moves his bag to free up another seat, nods to Kishitaku and Jouji as well. "Glad you guys could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Tera says cheerfully. He reaches past Sho to give Daisuke a fistbump. "Congrats! Can't believe you've been back all this time and we've barely seen each other. You excited for the project? Anybody we know involved?"

"Thanks, um." Daisuke smiles as he tries to catch up with Tera's questions. "It's just a couple shows, but yeah, I am. And I don't know if you'd know anyone—"

"Try him," says Kishitaku, while Jouji adds, "Tera knows everybody through secondhand gossip."

"Hey!"

"Katou Ryousuke's in it, right?" Tomoru nudges Daisuke. "And that friend of your friend."

"Taito?"

Yutaka looks up from his phone. "Hashimoto Taito?" 

"Yes, his friend."

"Oh, right, Ryuuki-kun! Yeah, he's great. I mean," Daisuke amends, "he's kind of super intense about everything. But it's cool working with people like that."

"I haven't seen Takahashi Ryuuki in years," Sho remarks. "How's he doing?"

"Good. He's actually doing some choreography for us. It's not that we don't have a choreographer, but you know how it is with smaller projects."

"What does he know," Tera laughs. "Mr. Hotshot-in-Training, a disciple of Suemitsu Kenichi himself!"

"Are you still working with Suemitsu-sensei?" Jouji asks. 

Sho nods, then shrugs. "Kind of. He doesn't really need another production assistant, so, you know—"

"Oh, stop it." Yutaka glances up from his phone to give Sho a smile. "We all know you've been working hard the last couple of months. And you've got all those years of experience on the other side of things."

"Yeah, well." Sho shrugs again, though he looks pleased enough by the compliment.

Before he can add anything else, someone says,

"Ah, sorry we're late! Jin got held up by a student, and then we had to go find this guy—"

"Daisuke!! Long time no see!"

Everyone looks up — Tomoru blinks — Daisuke turns his head — and the enthusiastic back-thumping hug nearly drags him out of his seat.

"I—" Daisuke laughs as his brain finally catches up with his eyes. "Kuwano-san?"

"Hey, now, it's still Kou-chan to you!" Kuwano releases him, grinning fit to burst. "Hasn't been _that_ long, has it?"

"Coming up on five years," Jin notes. He nods an apologetic greeting to everyone else, nudging Isedai toward a free chair by Tomoru. 

Isedai plops down next to Yutaka instead, leaving the other two seats for his friends. "Has it really been five years? Where does the time go?"

"Where it's always gone, I suspect." Tomoru glances at Daisuke, who just smiles back. "I thought you said this was supposed to be a small party."

"This is everyone, I think." Daisuke looks to Sho. "Unless I'm forgetting someone?"

"I don't think so. Tera?"

"The rest of 'em couldn't make it," Tera says, busily reading the drinks list over Kishitaku's shoulder. "They all send congrats, though. And Seiya asks if you want to go fishing sometime."

"Pass," Daisuke and Sho say simultaneously.

Half the table laughs at them, while Jouji adds, "Correct answer."

"Shall we order?" Yutaka asks, and gets a mixed chorus of yes's and not-yet's along with questions over where the drinks menu has gone. 

In the resulting kerfuffle — Kuwano crowding between Tomoru and Jin to get a look at the beer list, Kishitaku calling Tera out for his questionable taste in cocktails — Daisuke takes a moment to look around the table. 

It's two tables, really, pushed together in a vague L shape. Yutaka had insisted on it when they arrived, reasoning that this way it's easier to talk.

Not that he's been doing much talking. Ever since they sat down, Yutaka has been on his phone. Daisuke is willing to put money on who he's texting.

 _Don't worry about it,_ Yutaka had said when Daisuke finally broke and asked last Monday. _You'll meet him when you meet him._

Which answers absolutely nothing, apart from Sho's question of whether Yutaka actually has a boyfriend — or just godlike game. Honestly, he should have known better.

Nobody still playing the game looks as settled as Yutaka does.

As if reading his mind, Sho's hand finds his under the table. Daisuke smiles into his glass of water. Tomoru gives him a sideways glance, and Daisuke doesn't even care.

The worst of the summer heat is finally starting to break. A frenetic summer, waning slowly into fall, and here he is — here _they_ are — together, with their friends, sharing drinks and good news and more than enough jokes to go around.

"Utsumi couldn't make it?" Jin asks at one point. 

Daisuke coughs. "No. I mean..." 

Utsumi — to the entire studio's palpable relief — has finally made up with his girlfriend. And, having done so, is now devoting one hundred percent of his time to being smugly unavailable. 

_Sorry, man,_ he'd said when Daisuke mentioned drinks. _But I gotta keep the lady happy. You know how it is._

"He had a prior commitment," is what Daisuke settles for in the end.

Tomoru muffles a snort; he's already heard the whole saga. Maybe it's bad form, sharing Utsumi's girl troubles with someone else. But, Daisuke figures, if you can't trust your best friend to keep a secret, then who can you trust?

 _Don't tell anyone,_ Tomoru will say later. _But I honestly never thought I'd get those two in the same room ever again. Much less sit together for a couple hours and actually talk._

Daisuke will ask why, and Tomoru will just shake his head. A wry smile, but an honest answer: 

_Kou-chan's always happy to hang out. But Jin — I don't think he missed us all that much. And I can't really blame him, given the way Jun picked on him the last time we all went to lunch._

_That said,_ Tomoru will add, before Daisuke can pose another question. _He's a lot more forgiving than people give him credit for._

And forgiveness — well, that's a word Daisuke's been thinking about.

It's not just the conspicuous absences around the table. It's also the people who are here, now, and what it all means: that Daisuke is putting down roots again, here in Tokyo; that he doesn't have to count the number of friends he has on one hand, because that number will grow with people old and new; that he's finally landed a gig — a proper show, a low budget one, but real honest work — and last night, watching TV with Sho, they'd started talking about going apartment hunting.

For Daisuke, of course. Sho still has his own place. 

But someday they'll talk about that, too. 

Not just yet, but someday. Maybe in a year. Maybe sooner. As soon as things settle down for Sho, now that he's decided—

" _What?_ " comes a screech from Tera's end of the table. "Are you serious?"

"Damn. This calls for a toast."

"To Jinchan!"

"Director-san!"

"Kantoku!"

"Shut the hell up, all of you!" Sho tries to glare his friends into submission, but he's barely managing to keep a straight face. 

Tera slings an arm around his shoulders. "I can't believe you kept it a secret from me!"

"What's happening over there?" Isedai asks curiously. He looks to Tomoru, who looks to Daisuke, and that makes Jin and Kuwano turn their heads as well.

Daisuke leans closer so they can hear. "Sho turned in his notice yesterday. He's starting a new job with a theater company — assistant director."

Isedai scrambles to his feet to add his congrats and nearly trips over Yutaka — who laughs and gets up to join him — while Kuwano decides to just holler over the noise,

"Nice one, Jinchan! Go get 'em!"

"Thanks! I'll try!" Sho manages between fending off questions from Tera and Kishitaku's solemn suggestion for shots. 

Daisuke tugs on Tomoru's sleeve. "Come with me to the restroom?"

That gets him a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Just." Daisuke makes a face; Tomoru is laughing at him. "Come on. Somewhere quiet. I need to make a call."

They end up outside, ducking around a part-timer sneaking a cigarette on break. The evening is cool and bright, full moon hanging low over the rooftops in silhouette.

Daisuke places a video call.

Tomoru raises another eyebrow when he sees the number. But before he can make a comment, the call connects.

"Well, well, well." Someya's grin is shaded with a drawl. "Hello, there."

"Hey, Some."

"Hey, yourself. I can't see anything from your end. Where you calling me from?"

"Oh, um." Daisuke shuffles sideways until he's standing under a streetlight. "Better?"

"Lovely. It's been ages since I saw your face."

"Same." Daisuke giggles at Someya's affected look of scorn. "Okay, fine, I've seen you on TV and stuff. But that doesn't count."

"I'm just teasing." Someya props his phone up on something; the change in angle reveals part of a dressing room, as well as Someya's own half-dressed state. He must have been in the middle of getting ready. "Speaking of which, though, you should come see me in person sometime."

"I will," Daisuke promises. He glances to the side. "But first, there's someone who wants to say hi."

Daisuke gestures for Tomoru to come closer. He himself leans out of the way to make room. It's silly to hold his breath, Daisuke tells himself; it's just a phone call.

"Some-sama."

"Tomorun."

They break into a grin at the exact same time, and Daisuke hands his phone to Tomoru.

"I guess you win," Someya muses. "You haven't aged a day."

"It hasn't been _that_ long."

"Last time I saw you was, what? That thing Tomoki was in?"

"Didn't I see you at Kousuke's party?"

"Same difference." Someya props his chin on one hand. "You should come to a show with Dai-chan. We'll be back in Tokyo in two weeks, after Fukuoka."

"Get us some tickets and you've got yourself a deal."

Someya laughs. "I'll see what I can do." 

"Some-sama," says an indistinct voice. "Sensei's looking for— Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"No, it's fine. I'll be right there." Someya glances over his shoulder. He looks back into the camera. "Come say hi. I think you two know each other."

The phone is at a weird angle, and Daisuke can't quite read the look on Someya's face as he picks up the phone — "Be back in a jiffy," — and hands it off to the other person.

In the lamplight, Tomoru's hair is a darker shade of gold.

A huge feathered hat casts a shadow over the camera. A face transformed by layers of stage makeup. Still, he's easy to recognize.

"Hey," says Tsune.

"Hi," Tomoru replies.

Daisuke steps away, quietly slips back inside. Someya can't call him out, not when he'd done the same on his end. Daisuke might have imagined the little catch in Tomoru's voice, or he might not have. But they can talk about it later. There's someone else Tomoru needs to talk to first.

He hadn't planned on that part, is what he'll tell Sho after. Daisuke had completely forgotten to check who else was in the cast with Someya. He'd just assumed he wouldn't know anyone, given how long he's been gone.

"But you're back now," Sho points out.

"Yeah." Daisuke leans into him, holding his arm even though there's no need. Not one that he can explain, anyway; but it's the same thing that drew him back to Tokyo, the same reason he wants to be back on stage.

The same reason Sho lets him do things like this, even though it can't be comfortable, walking down a late-summer road with Daisuke practically moulded against him, footsteps syncing as Sho steers them along.

"So what's the deal anyway," Sho asks, "with Aoki and Tomoru?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

"Really?"

"Of course."

"And here I thought you were super busy making a big career change." Daisuke tries to sound wounded. "If you have all this free time, don't you think you're better off spending it on me instead of nosing into my friends' busine— Hey!"

Sho steers him right into a flowering shrub, ignoring Daisuke's screech of laughter as he tries and fails to get away because Sho's holding him so tight it's as if he never plans to let go. 

And that would be all right, Daisuke thinks. He doesn't plan to, either.

The azaleas shiver with a sound like laughter, a burst of pollen and pink.

"You're the worst," he manages finally. It almost comes out as indignant. "You're being mean to me."

Sho brushes a few petals out of his hair. "I would never."

"Yeah, I know." 

Daisuke is holding his hand, and they both know.

He glances at the passing street signs, the turns Sho has taken that don't seem to be following any pattern that Daisuke recognizes. He's not entirely sure where they are, only that it's somewhere near where Sho used to live, years and years ago. 

"Where are we going?" Daisuke asks.

"You'll see."

It's nice out, and he doesn't mind. He keeps their hands entwined, and Sho doesn't mind that, either.

"Mitsuya says hi, by the way," Sho says out of the blue. "Mitsuya Ryou. You remember him?"

"Yeah. Of course." Daisuke looks at him in surprise. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Uh-huh."

Sho just smiles to himself. "You'll see." 

He's not sure how far they walk, before Sho makes a final turn and they come to a stop. It's quiet here. Just a couple storefronts, a building marked for renovation; the street is narrow and has seen better days, but there's something familiar about it all.

Daisuke looks around, and Sho says,

"This is where we met."

Daisuke looks again at the shapes of the buildings in the dark. He imagines it in daytime, in another time; his feet carry him toward the boarded up windows. Glossy posters proclaim a new office complex, opening in 2022.

Beneath it is the rickety old practice building where they'd spent winters and summers rehearsing. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the squeak of shoes on hardwood floors. Reflections in the mirror. That scratchy old sound system, rewinding through songs they'd come to know in their sleep.

An outstretched hand, pulling him up off the floor. A voice saying, _Come on,_ and, _Our turn to impress._

"It's silly, but — I was just thinking about how far you've come," Sho tells him in the moonlit dark, in the shadow of a building that doesn't really exist anymore, even if they both remember it still. "It's never easy, but especially for you. I wanted you to know. I'm so, so proud of you. For everything you've done, and everything you're still going to do. Happy doesn't quite cover it, but I am. I'm glad to have been a part of it. I'm glad I get to be a part of your life again."

"You're trying to make me cry," Daisuke accuses. His vision's already blurring and he can't tell if Sho smiles or shakes his head.

"I'd never make you cry if I can help it."

"I know. I just. Shut up."

Daisuke scrubs at his eyes. He can barely see now, and his face hurts from smiling, which makes no sense, and he can't seem to stop either from happening. It's always going to be a losing battle, with Sho.

Arms around him, and Daisuke hugs back with all the strength he has. There's more than a few things he's had to let go of, but not this time, he thinks. Never again.

"Shut up," he whispers again, voice muffled to his own ears. And, "I love you."

A kiss, feather light against his forehead. "I know."

It's obvious, all of it, but he wanted to say it anyway, because he can. 

Because it's been ten years, and here they are again: older, but no different; not in any way that matters. People change, and people leave, but there are some things you just can't outrun. There are people and places and moments that have a way of bringing you back, and leading you on to exactly where you're meant to go.

Even if he doesn't know where that is just yet. He has Sho, and they're going to find out together.

Daisuke can't wait to see what the next ten years will bring.


End file.
